


Empire's Shards

by MeZaKi93



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Animated (2007)
Genre: Gen, Mech Preg, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rape/Non-con Elements, Torture, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, dark themes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-04
Updated: 2017-05-23
Packaged: 2018-07-12 07:16:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 21,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7091152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MeZaKi93/pseuds/MeZaKi93
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Megatron and his Decepticons at Trypticon Prison face the consequences of a new power coming into play to rule Cybertron - a fate maybe worse than execution. The only one still free to break them out, however, must first find his way back to life and to the promise he once made, long ago.</p><p>TF:A with elements of G1:IDW. WARNING: the story features explicit torture in later chapters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello!
> 
> It's been a long time since I came to this site - college and my own stories took most of my time and I fell out of this fandom for a while. My other stories are not forgotten and I intend to finish every one of them, even if it takes forever. 
> 
> This story is set in the Transformers: Animated universe with elements of the G1:IDW universe heavily featured. It takes place after the end of the third season of Animated, with Megatron and co. in Trypticon Prison, taking up the abandoned but official idea of Slipstream going back to Earth to resurrect Starscream once more. It still needs some things worked out and I don't promise quick updates - I'm sorry for that. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy it. :)

 

_"You are the only one of the clones who is competent enough to survive."_

Slipstream knew from the moment she set optics on the greyed frame of her template that she was going to regret her decision.

It had been three of the Terran days since she found Starscream and dragged him back to the small ship she managed to steal. Luckily, it was installed with a warp-drive, so the journey from Cybertron back to Earth - how she _loathed_ that mudball - took only three deca-cycles, and another three to get back. Knowing what she left behind, even that felt too much.

Despite what had been told her, she still couldn't wrap her head around Megatron's request. On that rare chance when she managed to sneak into Trypticon Prison, to the section they were held in, the Decepticon leader gave her a tiny AllSpark fragment he, by some miracle, managed to keep hidden from the optics of the Autobot guards. Gave it to her, the only one of them on Cybertron still free, with the order to go back for Starscream and bring him back, once again, from the dead.

Once more. Because they needed him.

_"What is he to me? Megatron, seriously... what am I to him?"_

_"You are his cunning. His stubborness. His intelligence. You are everything that makes him a survivor."_

So here she was. Starscream's dead body, she assumed, had been found among the debris after the battle in Detroit and disposed of by the humans to one of their fields where they kept the hazardous waste. It was a full stellar cycle ago, time and the planet's much wetter conditions must have made the deterioration quicker. Starscream's body was intact, but definitely looked thinner and fragile like a glass doll, Slipstream didn't quite notice it until she lifted him with ease she didn't expect.

On one of Cybertron's moons a small group of former Decepticon soldiers managed to stay in hiding; she stopped there before entering deep space. She knew they had a medical officer with them and hoped would be able to answer some of her questions. He shouted at her, telling her what she wanted to do was insane and impossible - but in the end gave her some bags of energon to give Starscream before and after she put the AllSpark shard into his spark chamber and a few ampulles of pain suppressants. There was nothing more he could think of - after all, he never brought anybody back from the dead before.

She thought about cleaning him out first and when she saw all the dirt falling off and covering him knew she couldn't ignore the matter. With a great sigh, she set off on the task and, refusing to settle for anything but a perfect job, Starscream was as gleaming as his dull grey parts could get at that point. Sticking the energon tube in one of his undamaged ventral ports, Slipstream finally deposited the brilliant fragments inside his spark chamber, arranging it between laser core stabilizer coils and waiting until the energy flow began.

And now here she was closed with a freshly resurrected Seeker in a scout ship light years from Cybertron. For two days she simply couldn't leave Starscream long enough to leave the star system further than the richly ringed gas giant's orbit - and cursed Megatron to the pits for every moment of it.

For the first few joors, Starscream remained unconscious as the AllSpark fragment's energy filled his body, the colour returning agonizingly slowly. Then, the moment his optics shone up - white and unseeing - he started screaming at the top of his vocalizer. The damage to the organ rendered the sound hoarse and horribly screechy, screaming out the pain of his death. By the time it finally stopped Slipstream thought she would go crazy.

Starscream couldn't move and Slipstream most of the time couldn't decide whether he was really awake or not - he did not react to anything, not even her slapping him. His body was constantly shaking and seizing and Slipstream used up half the suppressants on him by the end of the second solar cycle. His systems struggled to come online and his energon circulation started up slower than she wanted and until then, she had to handle the constant seizures.

"Starscream... seriously?" she groaned, throwing the tainted piece of rag onto the floor. That morning, she had to stop another inner bleeding from a ruptured line, the energon veins thinned and grew weak during that stellar cycle he lay dead on this planet of sludge, and were prone to tearing. For lack of a better solution, she glued them with nanite gels and hoped they would last until his self-repair systems started working again. The bleedings did not help his recovery one bit and she was left to deal with the consequences.

She really did not volunteer for this.

"Why can't you... Argh, just stop it!"

It was the fourth solar cycle and it was the first time she managed to make him drink some energon without him purging it right back and of course he had to get another seizure again. It was getting a tiresome routine now, having to clean up the mess, having to steady him, scan him all the time to see his progress, to see if something went amiss, trying to get a reaction out of someone unaware of the world around him - and she had enough of it.

Slipstream strode over to the controlls, not looking back at the shaking mass of frame that was Starscream. She was in serious need of some time alone, without having to tend to anyone - just why she had to agree to that old fool's order was beyond her. She was not a caretaker, she didn't know how to do this! And definitely didn't have the patience to spend a click more with the helpless Seeker.

_Who is he to me?!_

Her hands shook and she vented with fury. If anyone would have tried to convince her that it could be worse - she could be where her comrades were, or transported to the torture chambers of Trypticon, as Megatron said would await them - she would have hardly believed them. She typed in the coordinates for the warp-drive initiation, but halted it until they reached the Oort-cloud of this solar system. If the initiation knocked off any space rocks towards the inner system, that wasn't her problem; she would do anything to finally leave that place.

The ship started moving and she checked the dermashield of the ship's exterior when she heard a faint groan from behind her. No, she refused to tear her optics away from the panels, Starscream was too weak to move anyway, he wouldn't go anywhere. He could really do without her for a few more moments. Or for the rest of the journey.

Slipstream looked up just in time to see the deep blue ice giant - Neptune, Starscream once told her - pass by on the far left, a magnificent sight and probably the only thing worth looking at in that place. Starscream told them all about the planets, their orbits, the Earth's position, how to navigate in this planetary system when they came to attack - or rather, assist Starscream in attacking Megatron over the newly constructed space bridge.

He told them many things, some of which were even useful among his endless mutterings. He showed them how to aim, how to concentrate the energy on their weapons. What the purpose of their existence was...

_You wouldn't be here without him._

_Yeah, I'm so lucky..._

She did look back. The uncontrollable shaking stubbornly racked Starscream's body and he was still more grayish than the magenta she remembered. A thin line of energon ran down the side of his chin and she wondered how long it would take until she suffered a mental breakdown. She was just wasting energon on that pathetic idiot...

"Why don't I just dump you out into deep-space?!"

The warp-drive's initiation sequence began without the slightest tremor in the ship. The graviton-bending went smoothly, Slipstream would not have to worry about the rest of the journey apart from the necessary re-calibrations along the way. She was, once again, free to go back and continue bringing Starscream further back to the world of the living. Megatron surely must have had a good reason... he surely did... and the tiniest pang of guilt in her processor told her that maybe, maybe she really shouldn't leave the one who created her lying in his own waste.

Picking up the rag, she walked back to the coughing Seeker. It was one of those rare moments that his optics shone up with their original red colour, although faint, but Starscream managed to focus them on her. He must have been aware, even for those few clicks before they would lose their colour and he would fall back into that delirious state. He was looking at her now, optics wide and emotionless, and for the first time, he strained his vocalizer - but not to scream this time.

"Whoar..." he slurred and Slipstream almost jumped. She looked up at him, frowning in confusion before her processor made out what he wanted to ask.

"You... don't recognise me?" she asked, but before he could have answered, his optics whited out again and his body tensed, caught in a seizure once more.

Slipstream groaned in exasperation. How bad could it be there if Megatron really thought this was their last chance?!

 

* * *

 

"The events of the past decacycles convinced us that the Decepticon threat has not been vanquished, as had been promised. We have been lulled in the illusion of peace, yet - one has to wonder why the leader of this so-called democracy is a military officer."

The speaker glanced at Sentinel Magnus - acting, until the official votes - who was staring at him with utter disbelief. The speaker's single optic never changed in intensity, but the force of his speech was climbing with each word spoken. The crowds started murmuring restlessly and it was now getting sure he was winning.

"It is apparent the existing system doesn't function as it should." he continued, "We suggest military officers, or rather, war-time frame-types should return to appropriate service and registered by their respectful bases."

"I'd like to remind everyone," Sentinel cut in, chin held high, he couldn't restrain himself any longer, "that we have in custody every member of the Decepticon High Command, among them their leader, Megatron."

"Yet," the speaker, the eleventh member of a newly formed council of twelve members he represented at the open conference, "an attack - a rescue attempt - from one of the most dangerous Decepticon generals took you completely by surprise."

Sentinel kept his digits from folding into fists with great willpower. This was not what they agreed to. This was not what _he_ agreed to - they promised he would stay in power. But this...

"We are convinced that further steps need to be taken to ensure the safety and stability of our society." The single optic shone gold and bright, "The Council carried out a research after the failed rescue attempt at Trypticon Prison. The results clearly unveil a correlation for the abundancy of certain frame-types among known Decepticons, as such, it is of utmost importance to filter out these individuals."

The crowd fell silent. Nervous glances were exchanged and some were fidgeting anxiously, looking at the visored and masked guards standing in a round by every entrance.

"The last time a classification of frame-types and functions was carried out was before the Great War swept through our planet. It is quite clear that changes are needed - and shall be carried out without further hesitation. To bring back the real peace to this world."

On the other half of the globe, harsh wind lashed across Trypticon Prison. The screen was painfully bright in the semi-dark corridor of cells and the two Autobot guards watching the speech grinned at each other above their cube of high-grades.

"Eleven-of-Twelve really nailed it." one of them ranted, "You know what it means..."

"Yeah," the other laughed and turned to the side, to the cell on the left, where two bloodred optics looked back at him, "soon we can finally move you where you belong, _mighty leader_. You and your fragging faction didn't get half the suffering you caused."

Megatron did not move and did not tear his optics from the two guards and the single-opticed speaker on the screen. He knew exactly what it meant for him and all the others imprisoned with him and he wasn't intent on prolonging their stay in that place any longer. Whatever may come, they wouldn't break - and their day would come again. To break free from the Prison... and their shackles.

_Starscream..._


	2. Chapter 2

 

Megatron's optics lit up when he heard a familiar cough from the cell left to his. They couldn't see each other, solid walls separated the cages, they could only see those on the opposite side, but Megatron knew who were on the same row with him. The cough came from Soundwave, and maybe at the best time. No, he did not wish for any of his soldiers to be sick in that place, but perhaps that would at least give one of them some time or relief from punishment.

And Soundwave wasn't just simply sick.

The Decepticon leader knew someone would come soon and take some of them to another row of cells, where just a few stood, directly by the torture chambers. He also had a wild guess who they wanted to take with him, after all, they had the whole High Command - sans Starscream - incarcerated, his most trusted officers. He was sure he would be followed to the torture chambers by Shockwave, Lugnut and the freshly captured Strika, Soundwave and they would have taken Starscream, too, had he been there.

What he _didn't_ know was when they would be taken away. No one said anything and they were left just waiting, waiting, knowing that any day could be the day they decided it was time for their transportation.

Megatron didn't know what was more fortunate: Starscream's - and Slipstream's - absence or Soundwave's apparent condition. Probably the latter. Starscream would need them, though Megatron still didn't think he could be trusted to the fullest; and despite that, it was him who had the best chance, the necessary strategic thinking and stubborness to break them out.

Soundwave's trustworthiness, however, he would have sworn his life on. Probably the only friend he ever had. Megatron was perhaps just as worried about the chance he would be tortured as he was for himself, and anyway - he _needed_ Soundwave to stay there, to have a trusted mech outside the chambers who would keep the captured soldiers organized, ready to uprise for a breakout. Remind them what they believed in.

"Soundwave" Megatron called to him in a hushed tone, he heard a soft thud as Soundwave sat down with his back against the wall to Megatron's side, "Are you sure they will come this cycle?"

Soundwave cleared his throat before answering, "That's... what they were thinking."

The mech's voice was slightly hoarse and exhausted, he sounded quieter and much more natural without his mask. Any one of them who had either masks or visors were deprived of such sensory enhancements and all their comm. links were disabled. Soundwave, who had spent almost the entire war without taking off his visor or mask, found it especially uncomfortable, but that be the least of their problems.

Megatron sighed. He didn't deny, not to himself, that he _was_ afraid of being taken to the chambers and he was sure Soundwave could feel it, too. He had no illusions; he knew the Autobots wouldn't be gracious with any of them, they had their own twisted-minded members among them who could hardly wait to see them, the fiercest and most important Decepticons, cowering at their feet.

"You will have to tell them then... Your condition is getting harder to hide anyway."

"I don't count on their mercy." the former communications officer coughed again, his intakes whooshed like a tired wind, "If... if they would choose any of my creations..."

"I don't promise anything, Soundwave. I'm more concerned about—"

"Oh, you have nothing to be concerned about, mighty leader." an Autobot guard grinned at him, "We'll take _good_ care of you."

Megatron felt an irritating jolt through his body as their stasis cuffs were activated. They were ordered on their feet and the doors of their cells opened. Multiple guards holding weapons ready to fire guided them in two rows towards the open field between the prison buildings. Painfully sharp sunlight hit the prisoners outside and they were made to stand in one line with Megatron and his main officer at the front.

A mech Megatron recognised had the same design as Eleve-of-Twelve of the Functionist Council walked up to the line of Decepticon prisoners. He walked slowly, his single optic likely scanning every one of the forty prisoners kept in that part of Trypticon. The red mech finally came to a stop and at the slap of his fingers, his lackey and the director of the prison hurried over to his side.

"I see you have all of them in fine condition." he said, still not turning away from the line. Megatron didn't need to look at his fellow Decepticons' faces to know what they were thinking and feeling. He was slightly glad Soundwave was the one standing next to him, he could at least keep an optic on him.

"Yes, Five-of-Twelve." the director answered in a clear voice, "The chambers are ready to receive them. You only need to select which of these scum is to be transported."

"We have already selected them." the mech, Five-of-Twelve said, "The torture protocols for each of them shall arrive to you tomorrow."

"Sir."

Five-of-Twelve - Megatron wondered if the mech ever had a regular name - raised his voice as he addressed the incarcerated Decepticons.

"Those who hear their names, step forward." he said and the whole line tensed up as one. It was the moment they feared.

"Megatron of Tarn."

As he expected. The Supreme Commander of the Decepticons held his head high and took a step forward, he faced the self-proclaimed Council member with unwavering gaze. Five-of-Twelve's face - or rather the optic that took up his face - was unreadable and he turned away almost immediately.

"Shockwave of Tarn."

The spy stepped out of the line and didn't move. Refusing their fate would have been pointless.

"Soundwave of Stanix."

Even though it wasn't a cause for surprise, all the tape-decker's creations - Ravage, Rumble and Frenzy, Buzzsaw and Ratbat; Laserbeak somehow managed to escape - turned to him sharply. Soundwave took a deep breath and after a moment's hesitation started to move forward, only to be stopped by Megatron's loud declaration.

"He will not go anywhere."

All the Autobot guards, the Decepticon prisoners and Five-of-Twelve snapped their heads in his direction. The bright red mech was the first to react, walking slowly up to the former warlord.

"Please, enlighten me," Five-of-Twelve talked slowly, " _why_ we should spare any of you."

However, Megatron only had time to open his mouth; Rumble's cry interrupted him with the explanation.

"He's carrying!" the mini-con leant forward, his face full of determination, "You can't torture a carrying mech!"

Dead silence fell upon the field. Five-of-Twelve folded his hands behind his back and a klick later he stood in front of Soundwave. He noticed earlier that the mech's optics were paler than the others' and he seemed slightly uneasy on his pedes. The Council mech flared his EM-field against the Decepticon, from which Soundwave visibly shuddered. Five-of-Twelve stared at him for another moment before speaking,

"Show me your spark." he demanded, and Soundwave's optics widened. Aside from how humiliating such a request was, Soundwave hated the fact his hands were scuffed to his back and his abilities dampened with a shunt they injected to the temporal side of his head, making him unable to leash out at any of them with his telepathy. And even if he did, the result would be one of the guards electrocuting him through the stasis cuffs.

However, he could still read what others were thinking and feeling, and he could see the Council mech would be happy to make a guard force his chest plates open if he hesitated for too long. Reluctantly, mouth plates pressed firmly together, Soundwave bared his spark chamber before the single optic of their judge and let him watch the newspark vibrate next to his own, the two sparks connected by thin, conductive filaments.

"Who is the sire?" Five-of-Twelve asked next and Soundwave closed his plates in an instant.

"No one." he murmured.

"It split from your own spark?"

"Yes."

Five-of-Twelve expressed no surprise upon hearing that. He knew what type of mech the Decepticon third-in-command was.

"When is the sparkling due to emerge?"

Soundwave raised his optics to meet the red mech's, "In three mega-cycles."

"You must be aware that, as one of the Decepticon High Command and as per judgement for your crimes against the species, having a sparkling will not spare you from the fulfillment of your personal punishment—"

"No, wait!" Rumble started walking towards Five-of-Twelve, but two guns from the guards on his back and head stopped him. Ravage growled next to them and Frenzy told him to stop, but the purple mini-con ignored his siblings. He stood the glare of the yellow optic and puffed out his chest, "Take me instead!"

"Rumble!" Soundwave's exclamation fell on deaf audios.

"There will be no substitutions." Five-of-Twelve stated firmly and started walking away, but this time, the mini-mech shouted after him in full volume, shrill and harsh, mustering all the hate he could push into his voice,

"Don't turn your back on me, you sniveling worm!"

Five-of-Twelve did turn back and one of his hands twitched as if he was holding back from clutching it into a fist. He leant down to Rumble's height, "How dare—..." only to be interrupted when the Decepticon spat at his burning optic.

The representative of the Functionist Council straightened up and wiped his optic with his thumb. His other hand made a gesture and a moment later Rumble twitched, a wild electric current running along his body. He groaned and fell to one knee. He heard Ravage growl even louder and saw Five-of-Twelve wave his hand again - another electric current came, but much stronger this time. He had never been electrocuted like this before. He lost control of his tendons and fell to the ground, optics flickering and his whole body was shaking violently.

The painfully burning jolts lingered and stars burst in his vision. One more current made his vocalizer spasm and spit out staticky whimpers, oral lubricant pooled at his face and waste fluid at his legs. Rumble's vents hitched and he faintly heard his twin shouting to the guard to stop what he was doing. By the time it finally came to an end, white smoke danced up from the mini-mech's vents and the world span as Five-of-Twelve leant over him.

"Congratulations. You can fill your creator's place in the torture chambers." he then turned to one of the guards, "Since we have no torture protocol for him, you may either carry out the one intended for Soundwave... or you may do whatever you want with him."

The guard wore a satisfied smirk on his face as he grabbed Rumble's upper arm and forced him up on his pedes, and the mini-con, by some miracle, managed to stay up on violently shaking legs. Five-of-Twelve then continued on calling out those who were still to be carried away to the chambers,

"Lugnut of Kaon."

"Strika of Obex."

"Rampage."

"Oil-Slick of Ultirex..."

Two other names followed that Rumble didn't care to hear. He could feel, among the jolting vibrations of his spark, his creator and siblings' immense fear for him, but he hushed them. He allowed a small, triumphant smile to his faceplate as he looked back up at his creator, having achieved what he wanted. His arm was grabbed again and the nine Decepticons were led away. Rumble had some ideas of what kinds of torture were in store for them, but for the moment, he was just glad he managed to spare those who were the most important to him.

 

* * *

 

"Morning, folks! This is Blaster blastin' it to you! This cycle's hottest topic - still - is the newest enactment plan from our dearest Council mechs up there. As you may remember from yesterday, this would order every one of us to take part in a grand registration for all our alt-modes. Here at the Twincast Studios we believe our alt-modes should be left our business, our life choice that no one should poke their nasals into! We're opening the forum in half a breem and you all can tell us your opinion. Don't be afraid to rub it in our faceplates, folks! Remember - no one's holdin' us back! And our first brave volunteer today is a lovely femme from Praxus..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, now I remember I should have added the time references for this fic, too...
> 
> Klick - second
> 
> Breem - minute
> 
> Joor - hour
> 
> Solar cycle (simply: cycle) - a whole day
> 
> Deca-cycle - week
> 
> Mega-cycle - month
> 
> Stellar cycle - year
> 
> Vorn - decade, all in Cybertronian equivalents.
> 
> I wish you all a good day/night! :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: this chapter contains rape, though not in much detail. Tortures will start in the next chapter.

 

Starscream tried with the best of his abilities to disinguish the minute swaying of the ship from his own processor swimming. He lost track of time - or never even managed to gain it back -, so he couldn't tell how long he had been awake. The world, the interior of the small ship and the features of Slipstream's face came to him way too slowly. For what seemed like an agonizingly stretched moment he didn't know who the femme was and where he was - it took him klicks to just remember _who_ he was.

He was secretly glad it was Slipstream who came to him and not any of the other clones. She at least had the processor to do her task right and was stubborn enough to take it to completion, even if she was just as impatient as him to finally end it all.

He glared at her now that she sat down, again, next to him on the berth and he knew by her annoyed expression what time of the cycle it was. Her actions were the only way Starscream could measure time in that timeless deflection of the laws of physics they were travelling in.

"Let's do it, then you'll get your energon." Slipstream's bored optics met his, "Who are you?"

Starscream rolled his head to the other side. He sat on the berth with his back against the wall, still too weak to move much by himself and he knew from the first moment that he had enough of everything.

"I remember everything." he murmured, slurred words came slowly from his vocalizer. Judging by the look on Slipstream's face, he knew it was nowhere near convincing.

"Tell me about it. So try it again; who are you?"

When all she got was silence and an indignant glare, she raised an optical brow, "All right, then, you won't get energon. You can go hungry for the whole cycle for all I care. If that's how you want to play it..."

She just got to her feet when the other seeker finally forced the words out of gritted dentae, "I'm Starscream."

" _Commander_ Starscream. What are you?"

"A seeker from Vos, city-state of Cybertron." his speech was still slow, but Slipstream gave him a nod. It was a vast improvement over the first few cycles.

'What's your rank?"

"You mean... what _was_ my rank?"

Slipstream shrugged, "And who do you think will give it back to you?"

Starscream's optics became distant and for a moment Slipstream tensed. She knew by the subtle changes in his body language and expression when he would go in another seizure and she really had enough of them by now. She stood up, but that seemed to rouse Starscream from whatever thoughts he had sunk into; he snapped his pale optics back to her and they brightened for a short klick before he spoke.

"Why are you here?"

Slipstream cocked her head to the side with a huff, "Pardon?"

"Why... _you_? You loath me from the... moment of your activation, for reasons I can't think of." Starscream smirked for the first time since he came back to full consciousness, "Though it tells a lot about my personality."

"What's your point, oh perfect template?"

"All you clones share... one aspect of me and that's my treachery. You were the first to abandon me, all of you did. Still, I... would've expected... that sycophantic Sunstorm to come to my aid. Or even Blitzwing or Lugnut. So why you? What... happened to the oth—"

Coughs started shaking his frame that was still just half-way being completely restored. Slipstream let out an agitated sigh and held his head, she moved by routine now. She knew Starscream couldn't help it, but she hoped the restoration process would at least be quicker and he would be ready for when they arrived back to Cybertron. Otherwise, the former air commander would be of no use to anyone.

What did Megatron think? Surely he had other, more loyal and _living_ Decepticons out there...

Though what obligation _she_ had towards him or his orders... to this wreck of a mech... she couldn't decide. Maybe it was just the feeling that she belonged somewhere. If only it was easier to find herself _alone_...

At that moment, however, she didn't have an answer for Starscream's question. If she hadn't felt this same uncertainty in the other clones, too, she would have thought it was yet another error inherited from her wretched creator. Maybe it was - if she hadn't known Starscream himself didn't feel it. He was sure of himself, if not too sure. Maybe she still didn't know Starscream enough or what aspect of him she represented as well as she wanted to.

"The others are in Trypticon Prison." she answered finally, her tone quiet as she wiped lubricant from Starscream's chin, "There's only the two of us left."

Starscream frowned, but Slipstream didn't explain further. She got up to fetch Starscream's cube of energon and effectively shut the flow of further questions with it. She didn't want to meet Starscream's optics, not yet. Not until she had the answers ready and undeniable.

"There," she said and changed the receptor-suppressant chip in the underside of Starscream's wrist for the pain, "try to keep it down."

She went back to the controls, carefully arranging her seat so that her back would face the other seeker. He grumbled something, but she tried not to listen. If only she could be alone without having to listen to that grumbling...

 

* * *

 

Ratchet, like most of the population, received a universal request from the government of Cybertron to travel to his home state for the registration. They were scheduled for different dates for the work to go more smoothly, and Ratchet was due to go to Protihex in thirteen cycles. He didn't worry about the result - after all, his alt-mode hadn't changed since the war when he was last registered. What memories it brought back... was his own business.

He believed, however, that it confused younger 'bots who have only heard about it from historical datapads. It spoke about times they couldn't imagine, different times where their freedom of choice wasn't as evident as it was in modern cycles.

Of course, this was the topic flowing from all media in the past cycles. Ratchet shut the transmitter, much to the chagrin of the red boombox mech sitting on his examination table.

"Hey!" Blaster threw his arms up, "My show's coming next!"

"It wouldn't hurt you to hold back a little, Blaster." Ratchet didn't look up from his datapad, "Your results are the same as always. You're perfectly healthy."

"Thanks, Ratchet." the reporter stood up, "Anyway... you really think we should stop?"

"No," the old medic frowned, "I only said you should hold back."

"Good. 'Cause it really can't stop, I mean..." he looked around and leant forward, and somehow managed to hush his voice depiste the exited tone, "We jus' got wind of some news. A Council member... the red one, Five-of-Twelve has been to Trypticon Prison."

Ratchet pressed his lipplates together and looked around nervously. He refused to listen to any news regarding that place ever since they returned to Cybertron and brought what remained of the Decepticon High Command back to be incarcerated for good. He didn't want to know about their further fate.

He didn't want to think about it. He had a normal, civilian job again, he was once more an esteemed member of the medical society. He didn't want to go back to that previous life - that period where he was out in the wilderness of space with only hopes of achieving something to keep them going. Prowl gave his life for them to start again. He didn't want to go back, not even in memory.

"So?"

And weren't they the same now...?

"So," Blaster whispered, "they must be preparing something. Maybe they're making room... there was some gossip that all this registration is to filter out former Decepticons."

"Many abandoned their faction at the end of the war when they were promised amnesty." Ratchet huffed, "That's common knowledge. They're protected by law."

"Yeah, yeah, but you know how they used make their badges from pieces of their spark casing—"

"That's _also_ common knowledge."

"—and that might be one way to filter them out. I'm telling you, they're filtering the population!"

"I thought you're above conspiracy theories, Blaster."

"I am!" the reporter frowned, "This is something more. You see, there was a notice that a psychiatrist went missing. I don't remember his name, starts with 'R' I think... and according to the notice no one knows what he turns-"

"Ratchet!"

Both mechs straightened up when they heard the electronic monotone they all knew too well. The expression on the mech's face couldn't have been more neutral as he approached the two of them.

"Ah, yes." Ratchet picked up a new datapad, "You're next."

"Yo, Percy." Blaster grinned, "How's it going up in the Ministry?"

"I recall asking you to call me by my full name." Perceptor extended his arm for Ratchet to take an energon sample and attach a status reader to his medical port, "We are busy. Ever since I accepted to take part in the creation of the Grand Taxonomy of—"

"Ho, ho!" Blaster raised up his hands, his face turned from confused to angry, "You did what?!"

"I accepted to take part in—"

"I heard you the first time, Perceptor." Blaster murmured upon seeing Ratchet's warning look to lower his volume, "But _why_ did you do it?"

If one of Cybertron's leading scientists had been capable of expressing or just experiencing emotions, a perplexed frowned would have marred his features. Blaster imagied it on his face, as he had been once a long time ago before the reporter came to know him - after all, he had been sparked towards the end of their war whereas Perceptor was already an acclaimed scientist by that time, working on the Omega Sentinels who brought them the peace they lived in.

How could the same mech now agree to such a request?

Perceptor took a moment to answer, "The new Council is above the Ministry of Science in the hierarchy."

"So what? You should have only said one single word, Percy, and that's 'no'!"

"Blaster," Ratchet hushed him, digits roaming on the datapad, "if he didn't accept, someone else would. You are finished here, you can go back to the studio."

Blaster threw up his arms in disbelief and turned around to walk out of the clinic. The sound of Ratchet cycling air through his vents was like a long, tired wind from the deep.

"Perceptor, your results are perfect, too. You may leave."

Perceptor, until then, and perhaps in an uncharacteristically pensive way, was looking after the boombox mech before glancing back at the medic. The yellow visor didn't alter the light from the evenly shining blue optics.

"If I'm not mistaken, you are due to check in for registration in thirteen solar cycles."

Ratchet shook his head with a tired half-smile, "You are not mistaken, Perceptor." _You never are_... the old veteran would have added if he wasn't sure his sarcasm would have been lost on Cybertron's brightest mind.

 

* * *

 

Rumble was glad he didn't see stars anymore and could look around with clear optics. When they arrived to the new row of cells in a steel-grey corridor, he had to admit he didn't expect the place to be so... clean.

His whole body burned and he was still shaking and twitching from the electric jolts. He still thought, however, that it was worth it; he was planning this from the moment they got to know about the torture protocolls. He would not have forgiven himself if he let any of his family members go through any more than they already have, especially after they felt Soundwave's spark split again.

Rumble shut the bond and vowed to keep it shut until... until whatever happened that ended their stay in the torture chambers. He and Megatron were led to the last two cells and everyone's cell doors closed. Except for his.

"Fill their cubes." the chief guard told the others and their handcuffs were separated. They still remained on their wrists and one around their necks that they couldn't destroy without severely shocking themselves, "We will start the torture sequences tomorrow."

"Eat up, cyclops." one of the guards grinned at Shockwave through the plasma wall that served as cage doors, "This'll be the last time you get energon."

Shockwave starred at the guard, disbelief leaking from his single optic. He expected several ways the Autobots would torture them, from whips and beatings to anything that causes pain and never considered any other option. For the pain, each of them was ready.

The former Decepticon spy put his cube down. Until he knew exactly what was in store for them, he didn't want to risk any drop of nourishment.

"What about this one?" the chief guard frowned down at Rumble, "Who is this? This cell is for Soundwave."

"Welp," the Autobot holding Rumble shrugged, "Five-of-Twelve chose him instead of Soundwave."

"And what did he say, what do we do with him?"

The Autobot's grin grew, "Whatever we want."

The chief waved his hand at that, "He's yours then." and left the torture chambers as quickly as he appeared.

The guard that led him to the chamber and who previously electrocuted him now yanked Rumble's head upwards. The mini-con pressed his lipplates together and gave the taller Cybertronian a defiant glare which didn't seem to move the guard in the least.

"Well, well," he cocked his head to the side, "still in strong spirit, are we? But how long can you keep that up?"

"Wanna break me, glitchhead? Try it!" Rumble barked at the guard and got a laugh in his face.

"Or else? You'll spit on me, too? Hmm..." the mech turned to his companion, "He says he can take anything. What do you think, Volks?"

"The second round is mine." was the other guard's answer, "And I don't think he needs any armor now."

Rumble gritted his dentae as in the next klicks the two Autobots removed - or rather tore off all the outer armors he wore until there was nothing left, protoform unprotected and bared. Kicking him to the farther side of the cell, the one named Volks held him while the other chained him to the wall.

"Still feeling up to it, tiny soldier?" the guard grinned to him now that they were almost eye-level. Rumble ignored the pain of the chains and stood the other's look, he put on a smirk to see the Autobot's reaction.

"Why, you gonna beat me? Rape me? Ya soft-sparked 'bots are _so_ creative."

"What do you think, what will you achieve with this?" the guard pushed one hand to his chest to keep him still while the other grabbed his interface panel to force it out of the way, "You think you can save your precious carrier? Once his spawn emerges we'll bring him here, too. You're just prolonging what's inevitable. But until then..."

He shoved a digit into the mini-con's unprepared valve and Rumble shut his mouth quickly before any sound of pain could have escaped. He had interfaced with standard-height mechs a few times before and it wasn't that bad, he nevertheless wasn't looking forward to what was to come. He braced himself for the burning sensation and what would soon follow.

"...about breaking you... We'll see what we can do."

The next moment the mini-mech couldn't fight back a groan when the Autobot's spike was unexpectedly forced into his body. He did his best to ignore the degrading pain and keep the sparkbond shut; Soundwave and his siblings didn't have to know about any of this. Rumble thought he was surely out of his mind for volunteering for the torture, but that was the only logical way for him. He couldn't think of anything else.

And anyway, he could take it. He could surely take it. What was a little spiking to him? He was treated much more roughly during the war...

His optics met Megatron's on the opposite side of the corridor. The warlord kept his features under control and didn't say a word. Didn't want to make it worse - he knew Soundwave from before the war and how important they were to each other. And tomorrow, he would be next.

He just hoped their sacrifices wouldn't be in vain.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: this chapter contains torture scene.

 

The collars around their necks and the cuffs on their wrists were attached to their protoform with rechargeable sticks to electrocute the one wearing it - and they also contained retractable needles with globules at their base filled with neuro-suppressant nanites that could paralyze once injected, leaving their victim in a half-delirious state, completely helpless.

All the Decepticon prisoners knew that, and when Strika felt the small stings in her neck and wrists, barely penetrating her protoform but painfully effective, she knew the Autobots were preparing to do something to her. Maybe start whatever was intended for her at the torture chambers. Indeed, before all strength left her limbs, she saw a guard and another Autobot, a femme wearing the insignia of medics stand by her cage, only opening it when she collapsed.

"Hold her hea—...-needs ti—...-won't fee—..."

Strika only heard fragments of their conversation, and then, nothing. It was like her audio feed had been cut off and her vision turned to black. At first she thought she was losing consciousness, however, she still numbly felt a hand push something in her head. Seeing and hearing nothing, she was laid down on the ground and left alone to wait until the paralysis wore off.

And then the screaming started.

 

* * *

 

"Leave her alone!"

If it weren't for the cuffs restraining his strength, Lugnut would have tried to break out of his cell to hurry to his consort's aid. Now, however, he looked like a chained beast, a ridiculous sight in the optics of the Autobot guards and they laughed at him as they passed his cell. He growled, but focused instead on the femme in the cell opposite his own, waiting impatiently for her to move again.

At about the same time, dead silence hung in the air around Megatron's cage when the pair of guards stopped in front of its glowing door. The former warlord soon felt the same pricks in his neck and wrists and the numbness spread throughout his body in slow waves. His vision swam, but he could still see Rumble looking at him with tired optics, still chained to the wall and thighs stained from the ordeal he had gone through the previous cycle - until the Autobot guards blocked his view when they stepped into his cell.

The two of them grabbed his upper arms and started dragging him out of his cell and down a corridor. Megatron's optic feed was blurry and he was dazed from the suppressant, he barely felt the hard surface scraping his knee joint as he was dragged for Primus knew how long until they finally arrived at their destination.

The light in the room stung Megatron's optics for a long moment, he just felt himself lifted upright and laid against a standing table, belts fast secured around his hands, mid-section and neck. His head cleared slowly, in time to see the guards lift his legs to put them into cylinder-shaped structures that closed down on his legs below his knee. He looked around; now he saw there stood two other mechs and a femme apart from the two guards who brought him to the room and there were a computer and several instruments laid out before him.

The warlord wondered for a moment which of those would be used, however, the other mech and femme moved to his head with cables and attached them to his temporal ports on both sides. Trying to turn his head away would have been a futile effort and Megatron knew that. He did not move while the Autobots attached more sensors to other medical ports on his body - mainly his chest -, he wanted to preserve his strength for whatever was awaiting him.

"Well, Megatron," the third Autobot was the first to finally speak, "I hope you rested well. The staff here promised they would leave you alone and keep you in good health."

This Autobot was different from the guards and other personnel he had seen in the prison so far. His frame was lighter, not built for fight, armor an orange color and he held a datapad that he kept glancing down on. Megatron snorted and locked his optics on the Autobot.

"Why am I here?"

The neutrality of the Autobot's expression gave way to a small smile bordering on a smirk.

"Your questions will be answered this one time." he replied, "My name is Flame and I'm here as part of a project from the Ministry of Science. The Council is interested in you enough to keep you alive... at least for the duration of some experiments."

Megatron thought his head was finally clear enough and just a lingering numbness remained in his body from the suppressant.

"I assume it has something to do with my nervous system."

The Autobot scientist, Flame, now obviously smirked.

"You are a great observer, I must say. Yes, these are sensory cables set to monitor your circuts."

"I have already gone through a lie detector while some of you questioned me and you already tried to electrocute me there. I can't give you any more information, no matter what you do."

Flame had the nerve to chuckle, "Well, information gathering is not our primary goal now, though it would be pleasant if you did give us some. I am sure everyone can reach their limits. We will monitor your sensory reaction to different levels of pain. I am curious if you can guess what the device is that's holding your legs."

Since Megatron could barely lift his head from the restraints, he couldn't look down at the cylinders the guards put his legs in. He didn't answer, as he was sure the confident scientist would continue his monologue anyway.

He was right, "Burn wounds are the most painful, or so I've heard. You have impressed us before with your durability and we would really like to see just how much you can take. We will ask you questions, but first, if you don't have anything more to say..."

Flame waited a few moments before he turned to the femme. She turned a switch and Megatron felt the inner walls of the cylinder starting getting warmer against his legs. At first the heat seemed like nothing, maybe a bit bothersome, but hardly painful. It would take several breems for the heat to grow intense enough to make Megatron grit his dentae, and another several where it started to be too much to bear without a sound; Megatron groaned and automatically tried to pull his legs away, but they were firmly locked in place.

"We are still just at the beginning, Megatron." he heard Flame's voice, "You don't have to hold back the screams, they will come eventually. There is no dignity in pain."

That, Megatron thought, was true - he had seen enough of that in the battlefield. However, he didn't want to give the Autobots the satisfaction to hear him scream and beg. He would rather die.

In the next couple breems, he barely felt the heat grow around his legs, only the pain. It turned searing and the Decepticon leader's vents and fans activated, the hot sensation spread throughout his body now. He willed himself to think clearly in his overheated state. He had experienced worse pain before and it was important to fight the delirium that came with it after a while.

Megatron groaned again and kept trying to wiggle his legs free, but the more he moved them the more they touched the burning cylinders. The agony from his legs was spreading all over his body now like acid rippling through his circuits. His tank roiled when the burning suddenly turned excrutiating, the white-hot pain exploded in his legs and across his processor.

A scream tore from his throat.

He didn't see the Autobot scientist gesture to the femme and she turned the switch back to its zero point. Megatron struggled against the belts and tried to fight the dizziness that threatened to take over him. He hardly noticed that the cylinders stopped burning completely.

"Well..." Flame stepped forward and Megatron managed to focus his optics on him, "It seems the rumors were true. Others would have broken much sooner. Now, our first question. Where is Starscream?"

Megatron snarled at the mech who stood oh so calmly before him - how he could rip his limbs off one by one. The warlord's vents heaved and the smell of burnt metal and wires hit him, nausea clawed at his midsection. He leant his head back on the table and offlined his optics, venting deeply. His legs throbbed in time with his energon pump, but he refused to open his mouth.

The artificial fire started again, even hotter this time, the immense heat turned the cylinder's walls pure white. Megatron, however, couldn't see any of that - his body writhed with the pain and he was soon screaming again.

"I already told you!" the Decepticon leader shouted, "Starscream died! I saw him die!"

"We know he died." he heard Flame's voice through a fog, stars and blackness danced around the edge of Megatron's vision, "Many witnesses confirmed that. But we also know about the AllSpark shard that kept him alive against all odds and now we cannot find him on the planet where he was supposed to stay dead."

Megatron's whole body shook as he struggled. He was sure his legs were melting now, the heat crawled all the way to his skeletal rods. His processor swam, the shock from the pain almost caused it to crash and his tank churned. When the burning stopped again, he couldn't feel it - the misery leeched itself onto his every circuit, it felt like his very spark was blazing.

He didn't have time to turn away when his tank expelled its contents, the energon flowed down his chest. The warlord couldn't care less, his ventilation system whined with the effort to cool him down. He put his strength into trying to focus on reality when that accursed scientist spoke again.

"As I said, you can't bear pain with dignity." he stepped forward, waiting for Megatron to find him with his optics, "Although, you can shorten these episodes if you answer truthfully. Where is Starscream?"

Megatron shut his optics and grit his dentae. The nauseous agony clouded his processor and Flame had to lean closer to hear his words.

"How should I know?" the Decepticon whispered, "I've been here... since his death. How should I know what... happened to his remains?"

"There are still Decepticons on the loose." Flame stated, "And the AllSpark was still missing some shards when Optimus Prime brought it back to Cybertron. Maybe someone went back to resurrect him again... what do you think?"

When Megatron stayed silent, the Autobot scientist chuckled, "Well, whether you answer or not, we are still getting impressive results from the sensory cables. Shall we continue?"

The cylinder lit up around Megatron's legs and his vision burst into flaming stars. His vocalizer spat static and his spark roared, everything was spinning madly out of control. His wild thrashing ceased when the dizziness became too much and Megatron allowed himself to drift into blissfull stasis. However, just as the pain would have floated away from him, a jerk shook his body and his processor snapped back to consciousness - and with it, the excrutiating feeling hit him with full force again.

"Unconsciousness is a luxury you won't be allowed, Megatron." Flame spoke above his scream.

"What are you doing?!" he shrieked, "You want my processor to burn out?!"

"No, we won't go _that_ far, but you will be kept awake for the experiment." The Autobot's expression darkened somewhat, "What did you think, what would happen to the one who waged war against our world? Against our species... our _families_?"

"I did not start the war!"

"Yes, Megazarak. He started it, you were there with him right from the beginning. And when you overthrew him, you had the chance to end the war - but you didn't."

He watched the fallen warlord howl in his throes and writhe in hopeless effort to free himself, but only when the mech's vents started spewing smoke did he gesture to the femme Autobot to stop.

"End of session." he announced curtly to the guards and stormed out of the room. The two guards moved to unbind the bonds that held Megatron. Even though the Decepticon hardly had any strength to fight, they activated the stasis cuffs and made an attempt to move him, only to have him scream again when they moved his legs out of the cylinders.

Now that the sensory cables weren't attached to his ports, the dizziness left Megatron in a daze. He barely acknowledged the two guards who started dragging him back to his cell and his vision flickered to black infinity. It couldn't pain him more that his melted legs were dragged on the hard metal surface, he only gritted his dentae to try to prevent himself from crying out when they arrived back to the row of cells.

His soldiers didn't need to hear him scream. They all had to be strong and they didn't need to hear his pain.

He was laid down in his cell and could finally allow unconsciousness to embrace him.

 

* * *

 

Astrotrain tapped his digits nervously on the chair outside the offices in the grand city hall of Polyhex, the corridor now just half-full compared to how crowded it was earlier. The registrations started early in the morning and Cybertronians were ordered to participate in alphabetic order in every city state. The first cycle of the registrations started with A and B.

Most who came to be registered didn't spend more than a quarter joor inside the office and most of them usually came out with neutral, calm expressions. Some were rubbing the back of their necks, some laughed a bit embarrasedly when they talked to acquaintances after stepping out of the office. There were only two, so far, who came out with confused and somewhat worried frowns - a mech and a femme whom Astrotrain knew to be former Decepticons.

"Astrotrain?"

The triple-changer sat alone, he didn't bother to go up to the few 'bots he knew, but now whirled around when he heard the familiar voice. Before him stood a short femme, armor painted green and white and her face carried a small smile of recognition - and, perhaps it shouldn't have surprised him, the symbol of the Decepticons was gone from her chest.

"Beta!" Astrotrain huffed with a sigh of relief, "I haven't seen you in stellar cycles! Not since..."

"Since the Battle of Iacon, I know." Beta sat down next to him, "I was captured, the Tyrest Accord was signed, they offered us freedom. Which, I see, you accepted, too."

"Heh, yeah. It's better this way, I think."

"Good. I'll be sincere with you, Astrotrain, I've had enough of a lifetime of fighting. I'm old enough to finally have my peace."

Astrotrain gave a curt nod. They didn't serve much together, Beta was part of different teams, and Astrotrain tended to forget that she was, in fact, much older than most of them; she fought even before the Great War broke out, as part of the ancient Destrons, while he himself was sparked somewhere towards the middle of the war.

However, Astrotrain understood the feeling - his whole life was one of war and he wanted to learn what peace was. The overly strict Decepticon upbringing told him it was betrayal, but the Autobots seemed to keep their promise of amnesty, he even got a well-paying civilian job that he wanted to keep.

"You look good." Beta spoke again, "I assume they're treating you well?"

"Yeah" Astrotrain laughed, "Tri-Torus Logistics. Good enough. I've lived here ever since I got the amnesty. What about y—"

"Astrotrain!" a mech called out from one of the offices just as another stepped out, ready with his registration.

The triple-changer looked back at Beta apologetically, the elder femme softly told him to go. Astrotrain grew tense again when he stepped into the office and the door was closed behind him. Inside there stood another mech, a tall and thin Autobot wearing the insignia of medics. Astrotrain frowned at first, but smoothed his features quickly.

"Come, sit down." the first mech told him while he himself sat at the opposite side of the table, a datapad in hand, "First, do you agree to us performing a neural scan on you?"

Astrotrain was taken aback.

"Uhm... I guess?"

The Autobot nodded and the medic moved behind Astrotrain, attaching the scanner to the medical port on the back of his neck. He felt a slight buzz in his circuits, but averted his focus quictly back on the other mech when he started talking again.

"We will just ask you a few questions and you are free to go. Date and location of emergence?"

"240200th Quartex 268th Cycle. I was sparked off-planet, on a spaceship... but I have citizenship in Polyhex."

"I see. So... you were sparked during the Great War."

"Yes." Astrotrain replied, but something in the Autobot's tone made him uneasy. Something he couldn't quite put his fingers on, though he soon had a clearer guess why.

"Do you have a job?"

"Management specialist, Tri-Torus Logistics."

"Ah" the Autobot nodded, "Something befitting your alt-mode, I see."

"Yes, I... yes."

The medic removed the scanner from his port and though it should have been painless, Astrotrain was left with a slight throbbing in its place. He did his best to ignore it and instead tried to do his best to answer these seemingly routine questions.

"We're pleased to hear that." the Autobot continued and put on a smile that Astrotrain had a hard time deciding whether it was genuine or not. Meanwhile, the medic walked over to him with the results of the scans for the Autobot to have a look at, "I see you're a triple-changer. I rarity nowadays. Let's go back a little to past events. Have you actually fought in the Great War? I know it is a sensitive question to some, but necessary for the administration."

"Yes, I... I did fight."

"You were an active participant?"

Astrotrain fidgeted in his seat, "We could say that."

"And may I ask... excuse me, but may I ask which faction were you affiliated with?"

"The Decepticons." the triple-changer murmured and quickly added, "But I recounced my faction and I was granted amnesty and citizenship."

"I see." The Autobot leant back in his chair, optics never leaving Astrotrain's face, "Just a few more questions before you leave. Are you in contact with any of your past comrades?"

"Uh... yes, some. We hang out sometimes, that's all."

"Are there any among them who hasn't renounced their faction?"

"Just... just one, but I—"

"When was the last time you came in contact with that individual?"

Astrotrain frowned, anxiety creeping into his spark. This all started to turn into what his trial was like back at the end of the war, "About five hundred stellar cycles ago... haven't seen him ever since."

The Autobot hummed, "Most former Decepticons who live on Cybertron are Autobots now, like the rest of Cybertron's population. However, I don't see the badge on you."

"I... chose to remain neutral."

"Interesting choice." the Autobot whispered, "Just a few more things and you may leave..."

They asked him some more routine questions, of his body-type and model number, about what kind of place he lived in, his family status and made a scan of his air- and space traffic license before letting him go. By that time, Astrotrain forgot all about the throbbing feeling in his neck and walked out of the office with downcast optics, not knowing what to make of the whole situation. What was the use of it? He had already gone through such questioning after the end of the war - what was different _now_?

He stayed to talk a little with Beta before she was called in and then walked home with his confused thoughts. He decided he wanted to forget it all as soon as possible. It was over, after all, he finished his part in it.

At least, that's what he hoped.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it for now. I hope I can get back in writing in the near future. :)


	5. Chapter 5

 

Soundwave watched the energon flow down in the drain hole, clutching his midsection when a wave of cramp gripped his tank. He leant his head to the wall; the dizziness and nausea were constant companions now and didn't make living in the prison conditions any easier. His ventilation system worked with steady whooshes, but it seemed to do little to help him.

He had a moment to rest before his body spasmed again, he purged whatever was still left in his tank. That the mechs opposite his cells could see him and everyone could hear the splash on the drain could hardly matter to him now - privacy was something they've given up on long ago in the row of cells next to one another, and he felt too sick to care.

The energon they were given was low-grade and Soundwave knew his systems barely had time to utilize some of it before his body rejected it. He was among the few unlucky who tended to be sick when he was carrying and Ravage said it must have worsened since he was so restless because of Rumble and the others.

It had been almost a decacycle since they were taken away and Rumble refused to open the spark bond to them. Sometimes, in moments of weakness, he let glimpses of pain and fear leak into the bond, but would close it quickly again. The shunt in his head still dampened his telepathy a great deal and Soundwave was going crazy _not_ knowing what was going on with his creation.

The Decepticon third dry-heaved a few times before his tank settled at last, watching the energon flow away in the hole. He shut his optics and sat down with his back against the wall that separated him from Ravage, he slowly let his frame down onto the hard floor. He could feel his eldest creation's presence, felt him try to soothe him through the bond they shared.

"Soundwave..." the mechanoid muttered, "you're _starving_. Both you and the sparkling."

When his creator didn't answer, he continued, "I overheard a guard, the prison just got a new medic. We need to tell them you need medical attention, you can't go on like this."

Soundwave frowned slightly at the new information. How could he not pick up the arrival of a new medic among the prison staff's thoughts? Was his telepathy really reduced so much, or was it just his general weakness? Right from the moment they put that shunt in his processor - one that he couldn't remove without alerting the guards and causing serious damage to himself - he was trying to figure out how to deactivate it. If he couldn't tamper with it physically, he had to find a way around it. He needed to work on it still...

But his worsening health and the tiny trembles of energy against his spark robbed his attention. He focused on what Ravage said instead - he really did need a medic.

"Soundwave?"

"On your feet!" a guard bellowed and the prisoners reluctantly rose to their pedes when the stasis cuffs snapped their hands together and activated around their wrists and necks. Soundwave pushed himself up slowly, fighting dizziness and fatigue all the way, but he managed to stand up on quaking legs.

His optics' condition declined steadily during the war, his vision without his visor was blurry at best, and now with the whole world spinning it felt like his optics were betraying him. He did manage, however, to make out the colours and figure of Blitzwing, the triple-changer resided in the opposite cell. Vertigo clouded his processor and the communications officer stumbled.

"Blitzwing..."

The blue face swapped towards him when Blitzwing heard the telepath's whisper. He'd been watching Soundwave and noted how faint the light of his optics were, his whole frame seemed too frail. He moved towards him without a word and let the tape-decker lean on him. Were Megatron there, he would have ordered him to do so anyway, Soundwave was also a higher-ranking officer, the highest-ranking among them, his words could be considered commands - and even _he_ wasn't a sparkless bot.

The carrying mech trembled against him. The Autobots didn't help him in the least, not even when they saw him being sick and that just heigthened his general hatred towards them. Blitzwing felt the angry personality trying to surface when he locked optics with a guard, but he pushed it down, repressed it for Soundwave's sake. He walked slowly with him, trailing last after the line of Decepticons with Frenzy and Ravage glancing behind all the time.

Humidity hung above the open field of the prison building and the ground was still wet from rain. They stood in line outside in the usual fashion, however, one guard stepped up to Soundwave and Blitzwing, waving her gun towards them.

"Stand apart!" when neither moved, the guard raised her gun and gestured to their stasis cuffs, "Stand apart if you don't want to be electrocuted!"

Soundwave took a step to the side and stood on his own with some difficulty, his trembling refused to die down. At this, Blitzwing's angrier side sprung to the surface and before he could have stopped himself, he shouted, "Can't you see he's sick, Autobot scum?!"

"Silence!" the chief's voice echoed around the field, "This cycle everyone will report for labour camp except for four of you. Those who hear their names will stay in their place. Sunstorm... Motormaster..."

Soundwave faintly heard his own name called, too, but it didn't matter. His optics flickered, his fuel pump whined with effort - his energon reserves were almost completely depleted. Horrible dizziness came over him, his strength seemed to be evaporating and he swayed. He felt Blitzwing move towards him and he leant on the triple-changer.

Stars were dancing in his vision and now he was sure he would pass out sooner or later - and when his support was yanked away, all that was keeping him upright were the hands on his shoulders. The Autobot guard's face blurred before him.

"I told you to stand apart!"

"I can't..." Soundwave rasped and his optics offlined. The voices of his creations all swirled around his processor.

"Leave him alone!"

"He needs a medic!"

He hit his shoulder when he collapsed, the ground was cold and wet and it made him shiver for a moment - that was the last thing Soundwave felt before he finally fell unconscious. Several Decepticons gasped and all of Soundwave's remaining creations started moving towards him until the guards raised their guns on them, ready to fire.

"Stand back, all of you!"

At that, Frenzy's cry cut through the air, "Didn' you slaggers see he was—" electricity clenched him and Frenzy fell to his knees. Ravage growled next to him and Ratbat cried out for his brother.

"I'm warning you," the chief grumbled, "before you take your brother's place as the loud-mouthed imbecile, just know we can always send you to the torture chambers for a reunion. Take Soundwave to the medic. The others, leave for the camp and start your schedule..."

Soundwave woke slowly as he was carried and laid down. Light shone in the room and figures moved around him, his vision came back slowly. The figures - three, two of them the guards who brought him there - talked and a moment of silence later the communications officer felt a scanning beam wash over his frame and a loud sigh by his side.

"You should have brought him here much sooner." a familiar voice grumbled above him, "His energon reserves are almost empty. There's damage on his esophaegal tube from the purges and he's lacking minerals. Severely..."

Soundwave now did his best to focus on the mech's - the medic's - face as he leant close and injected an energon line to his medical port. Yes, he was a lot less bulky than the last time the tape-decker saw him, and the insignia was missing from his chest plates, but the face and signature didn't change.

"Look, his body's burning through his reserves faster because of the sparkling." the medic continued, "Soundwave is already malnourished, and the sparkling will be, too, at this rate. I know you don't have to ensure the prisoners' well-being, but we're talking about a sparkling."

"What do you want us to do, Flatline?" one of the guards asked, "Low-grade is the only thing allowed in the prison."

Flatline heaved a great sigh again, "Bring him here at least twice a deca-cycle. More times if needed. I will give him nanites to help the purging. You can leave now, I'll keep him here for this cycle."

The guards left and the two mechs were alone. Heavy silence engulfed the room, Soundwave never tore his optics from the medic while the other refused to meet them while he worked.

"Here," he gave Soundwave a small cube with a bluish, semi-transparent liquid in it, "this will help soothe your tank. Do you feel any discomfort in your spark?"

"No." Soundwave finally murmured, "What are you doing here? You left us at the Battle of Iacon. You abandoned your faction."

"I knew it would come to this. Yes, I left and I accepted the Tyrest Accord, but I never became an Autobot, as you can see." Flatline gestured to his own chest that lacked any insignia, "I know you consider us all traitors who accepted the amnesty, but I still believe it was the best choice I made."

"Yet, here you are now." without the mask, the bitterness in Soundwave's tone was evident; but he laid back and let his body rest, grateful he wasn't in that cramped cell anymore.

"I got the job two cycles ago. It wasn't easy, you know... even though it's been two million stellar cycles, people can still get suspicions when they find out you're a former Decepticon." Flatline shrugged, "I heard that you're all here and Mindwipe got caught, too, and... I had to see..." the mech sighed, "I can guess what you think of me, but I think you're still better off with me than with one of the Functionists' puppet. I know you, you know me, and I can give you the proper medical care you need."

Soundwave turned his head to the side. He had to admit it was not the place for reprimands right now, and he still felt too weak to deny the mech's help. He figured Flatline could be right in that one aspect - and could perhaps still be useful if he had free access to all the prisoners and the personnel.

"Have you seen Rumble and... the others?" Soundwave asked quietly, though he wasn't sure he really wanted to hear the answer.

"I have." Flatline muttered, "But I haven't been allowed to treat them. Not yet."

"What will happen to my sparkling?"

"I... don't know. I haven't talked about it with the chief yet, but I will ask him for you."

"I want any new information you can get. And I want to follow the tortured Decepticons' condition." Soundwave turned back and his optics bore into Flatline's, his voice lowered, "You will be our connection to the outside world. I want to know about everything. _Everything_. Is that understood, Flatline?"

Anxiety and a moment of fright flashed through the medic's face, but he managed a small smile, "I see you are feeling better." he then turned away and stood up, "I will... see what I can do."

With that, they didn't talk any more. Soundwave willed his body to relax, the energon he so severely needed filled his veins. If this was all they could get now, he would make the best use of it. The newspark fluttered next to his, like a flicker of hope, as if to remind him why they were making their sacrifices.

 

* * *

 

The itchy feeling in the back of his neck faded, then intensified, then faded again. Ratchet successfully quashed the urge to rub the area above the port where the medic at the city hall performed the neural scan. Altough Ratchet at first didn't agree to be scanned, the administrator _insisted_ they needed one for his file update. Otherwise, his registration went smoothly - he even got some praise for having a job befitting his alt-mode.

Since he got the cycle off, the veteran headed home for a well-deserved rest. He needed some time alone to process all that had happened, all he heard at the medical centers in the past decacycle, the lines dominating the news channels. Ratchet went straight to the ground bridge station to head back to Iacon. Though Protihex was, once again, a thriving city-state, the old medic already settled down in the capital.

All who were important to him now lived there. It felt good to belong.

"Hey, Ratchet!"

The medic turned at the familiar voice once he was out of Iacon's ground bridge station. Wheeljack grinned at him from a distance and ran up to him. Ratchet shook his head with a smile; no matter how high a position Wheeljack aquired in the Science Guild, his attitude didn't change much. Not that Ratchet complained.

"Where are you going?"

"I just got home from the registration." Ratchet answered, frowning slightly when Wheeljack's face fell spectacularly.

"Ah, I-I... see."

"What's wrong, Wheeljack?"

"Eh..." Wheeljack looked around, "Don't you wanna get a drink with me?"

Ratchet agreed, a drink sounded good and he was now curious what had Wheeljack so upset. He rubbed his neck again, but told himself to abandon the movement.

"So..." Wheeljack began once they ordered their drinks, "How was the registration? I guess they asked about your body-type."

"Yes, they did. But why are you—" Ratchet's features smoothed out, "Oh. Your modifications."

Wheeljack chuckled nervously, "I don't even remember my original body-type. And... I heard they don't really appreciate things like this."

"What can they do about it, Wheeljack? Besides, you have a safe position at the Ministry."

"Didn't you hear about the..." the engineer lowered his voice to a whisper and leant closer to Ratchet, "the disappearances?"

The medic brushed his nasal plates. Of course he heard, bots talked - even if things hadn't reached official news yet, which was a miracle in itself knowing Blaster, Ratchet knew from Jazz that investigation started. That was all he was allowed to tell them just yet. Jazz was a trusted friend of theirs and Ratchet didn't want to betray that trust.

"I've heard some gossip, but who knows whether they are true or not." he replied, "Let's wait for an official admission. And don't worry, Perceptor needs you - he wouldn't let you out of your position."

"Perceptor... he seems even more distant than ever."

"Transitioning to a new system isn't easy for anyone."

"That's for sure."

They talked for a while before they decided to leave for their business. Ratchet couldn't help, however, the worry creeping into his processor. While he swore not to let people's talk get to him, he found it harder and harder to outright deny whether they had a real source. He needed to talk to Jazz and Optimus.

He was home when the itch in his neck returned and he rubbed his hand hard onto the spot, hoping to stop it once and for all. He frowned when he felt a tiny bump above the medical port, barely noticable, but it was there. Ratchet sat still as he tried to feel what it was and the old medic quickly ran a self-diagnosis, but nothing came up.

Still, it unnerved him. Yet another mystery in a world that started to seem less familiar with each cycle. He had to ask the others - after all, of his former team, everyone had already gone through the registration...

 

* * *

 

It had been almost a decacycle and Astrotrain thought life had been fairly normal since his registration. The questions they asked bothered him for a few cycles, but now he managed to blissfully forget about it. He spent the evening alone with his datapads and unconsciously scratched the back of his neck.

He noticed earlier a light buzz emanating from the spot, but it came and went, Astrotrain didn't pay much attention to it. He selenated his energon a little and drank slowly as he watched the monitor in his room, a news program housed by a bot named Blaster. Though Astrotrain remembered the mech was an enemy officer before the war ended, that hardly mattered now - in fact, that Autobot sold his stuff with just enough mockery to be entertaining. Astrotrain actually liked his programs.

He felt the buzz again in the back of his neck and it started to annoy him. He was just about to turn to his diagnostics when he heard a thump from the other room, and then another. The triple-changer frowned and turned towards the sound, a chill running down his frame.

He got up and walked over to the room, but in the dark he saw nothing extraordinary. Maybe it was just the neighbour again. He reached out to switch on the lights when suddenly he felt something brush against his EM-field. Felt like... another bot.

Long-forgotten protocols springing to life, Astrotrain spun around.

"Who's there?!"

However, at the next moment, a blow to his back made him stumble. He fell to the ground and turned around in time to see two figures stand above him, one holding a long, rod-like weapon above him.

"Wha—"

One of the figures prepared to hit him, but Astrotrain managed to move away from the attack. However, another blow to the side of his head turned his vision black and the triple-changer's body dropped to the ground. The flashes of the monitor still illuminated his room and the half-empty energon cube, and Blaster's voice stifled the sound of the two figures' steps as they hauled Astrotrain's limp frame away.

"...and now after Four-of-Twelve's announcement, we have some interesting news for you! The Police Defense Command confirmed the disappearance of three Cybertronians from Altihex, Stanix and Uraya. What we know so far is that two of these unfortunate bots were former Decepticons who abandoned their faction. All three of them had already been to the registrations. Remember, you can all share your thoughts with us in the upcoming forum and do not forget, folks - no one's holdin' us back!..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A fairly actionless chapter, but I hope you liked it. :) I want to make good use of my muse as long as it lasts.
> 
> The Tyrest Accord I keep mentioning is the one associated with the Animated universe, the agreement which ended the Great War and granted Decepticons amnesty. I also used Animated Wheeljack's profile that stated that due to injuries (though coming from his own experiments) and modifications to his own frame little of his original frame remained unaltered. The next chapter will be coming soon.
> 
> Feedback is welcome :)


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: this chapter contains rape.

 

The screaming stopped after a while - only to return at impossible times. Strika couldn't find a definite pattern, but it seemed to come when she would just enter recharge. It would explode right into her processor, screams and cries of mechs and femmes of various origin. Most of the time they were random screams, sometimes amongst sounds of bombs and gunfire, sometimes just the howling - and other times she heard bots she knew.

Screams of agony that sounded like Lugnut echoed cruelly along every circuit in her head. Sometimes in a mixture with the cries of a sparkling.

Strika didn't need much time to realize no one would do anything about the voices. It took some more time to realize she wasn't hearing them with her audio receptors, the voices didn't have _distance_. In fact, she didn't hear nor saw anything - the Autobots must have disabled her sensors. No, the screaming came from _inside_ her head. She ran her digits over her head and neck several times to search for a shunt, but all she could find was a painful spot.

Left blind and deaf, the former Decepticon general sat in her cell with her back against the wall and told herself to take it. What else could she do? There was nothing but darkness all around, wherever she turned, and silence, dead silence when the voices stopped. Sometimes she risked getting up and felt her way around the cell, most of the time she managed to find the energon cube the guards left in the cell for her, but she never knew when they came. She didn't know when they would come, and felt like a helpless toddler trying to reach out to a carrier's sparklight that refused to shine.

At other times, when she was shaken out of recharge, she cried out with the voices booming in her head, but she wondered if she made any sound at all - she couldn't find the neural connection to her vocalizer, so the words she said into the darkness were probably just as silent as everything else around her.

Though she lost track of time in the nothing that engulfed her, no one touched her ever since and Strika wondered if the Autobots would do anything more. Whatever would happen, she needed to endure. Even if the screaming refused to die down in her mind.

 

* * *

 

Shockwave sat back down from his pacing, realizing, once again, that he needed to conserve his energy. The only way he could track time, after the Autobots disabled their chronometer, was calculating from the guards' shifts. Day and night were all the same down in the torture chamber, but, knowing the guards gave them energon every two cycles, Shockwave knew more than a decacycle had passed since they were brought to the chamber.

More than a decacycle since he himself was last given any energon.

So, he thought, this was going to be his torture. Or at least part of it. He remembered on their first day there a guard warned him of it and Shockwave made himself rations from the cube he received then, two sips a cycle.

As he expected, by that time his tank was screaming at him every time the energon hit his intake and it took more and more of his willpower to deny himself the whole cube. He grew noticeably weaker and his fuel pump jumped in strange palpitations sometimes that resulted in him getting dizzy when he got up too quickly. His joints started to creak and ache and Shockwave knew these were signs of starving, thirst that he couldn't quench. The guards hardly glanced at him even though he stood to attention every time the other prisoners were fed - and every time he was ignored.

Among the cries, curses and howls of pain from his fellow Decepticons, Shockwave blessed his luck he didn't have to go through any more. Not for now. He told himself he should have felt lucky - and did his best to refuse to pay attention to the dreadful twisting of his energon tank. He knew, however, that he was down to the last drops from the cube he nursed and he had no idea what would happen next.

He was pacing once again, but even though he knew he was wasting precious energy, those tiny circles helped to distract himself from his hungry mind. He didn't talk to any of the other prisoners, they were too far paced; he only saw who was opposite him, and only heard the others whenever they cried out either from pain or rage. Shockwave didn't have much contact with the Decepticons in the past fifty stellar cycles, but now he would have _yearned_ to talk or listen to anything but the grinding of his systems, the sounds of his own hunger.

Now, when the guards came again, they only stopped in front of his cell for a moment. One of them glanced at the cube inside and stepped right away from the glowing wall.

"He still has some." he said to his partner.

"When does Flame want us to take him to the machines?"

The first guard smirked, "When he's hungry enough."

Shockwave watched them go away, the smell of energon floated over the corridor like a siren's call. The former spy looked down and shuffled to the back of his cell. He should have felt lucky. Whatever was awaiting his fellow prisoners - he didn't want to be a part of it.

Rumble was roughly jerked awake and needed a moment to realize a hand grabbed his neck and pulled him up. It was rare in itself that he was allowed to lie down in his cell instead of being chained to the wall and left to hang or stand there - thus the time he could recharge somewhat comfortable was much needed and valued. Even before his optics rebooted, however, he knew who had yanked him upwards.

The mini-mech snarled at the guard who raised him up by his neck and fastened the cuffs around his sore wrists, and Rumble quickly found himself hanging on the chains once again. He pushed his lipplates shut, but couldn't stop a shudder from sneaking through his frame. He knew what would come next, the painful throbbing in his valve couldn't stop long enough to give him some rest, some shelter from the way he had been used so far.

He had no idea how long he'd been there, but he did know his patience was thinning fast. Every cycle was the same, the same pain and the same darkness that surrounded them. He was either bored out of his mind or terrified whenever he looked at Megatron and his scorched legs - and when he was neither, a guard must have decided to indulge him in their latest version of "fun". But at least they were consistent in how they used his body and Rumble by then knew what to expect. What not to be afraid of.

Frenzy and the others were annoyingly persistent in poking him through their spark bond, asking, _begging_ him to open it and Rumble sometimes couldn't decide which would eventually drive him crazy - them constantly trying to reach him or the rapes and pain and not _knowing_ when it would all finally stop.

The guard huffed when he stepped up to him, he held a cleaning cloth in his hand soaked in solvents for the first time since Rumble and the others were at the chamber.

"You _reek_ of waste, Decepticon." he murmured as he pushed Rumble's legs apart, "Disgusting."

The sudden rage that welled up in the cassette broke out without a second thought, "If you didn' leave me chained to the wall for _cycles_ —"

"Then you would reek of something else." the guard smirked, "And you _do_."

"Lube-sucking slagger!" Rumble tried to kick the Autobot, though only succeeded to send jolts of pain through his lower abdomen and wrists, the chains clung against the wall and echoed around the cells. The larger mech wiped his thighs roughly and no matter how Rumble tried to kick his way free or move away, he was quickly subdued. He knew he would not escape his predicament, but he just _hated_ being so slagging weak.

When he did manage to kick the Autobot in his side, however, the guard finally had enough and pinned his legs to the wall, "Pity," he growled, "thought I'd prepare you today. But you keep ruining your luck, runt."

 _I do, don't I?_ The standard-height mech's spike was inside him the next moment and the mini-mech gritted his dentae, the burn was especially piercing after having to endure it cycle after cycle. One decacycle ago, Rumble thought he would be able to take whatever the Autobots would do to him. What could they do? Really, what could they do that would make him change his mind and give up his family?

And despite knowing this, he felt himself growing weaker, both physically and mentally. The ache in his valve and lower abdomen were becoming constant and his wrists were on fire from holding his weight sometimes for a whole cycle. He was fed irregularly, he was hungry and he was sure he had wounds all over his back with how his bare protoform scraped against the wall. And, since there wasn't any torture protocol for him, the Autobots didn't have to take care to preserve him in a desired state - they could really do whatever they wanted with him.

_You can do it, you can do it, you can take it, just endure, endure, endure..._

"You slower than usual." Rumble mocked the mech, trying his best to ignore the sharp pain of a too large spike in his already torn valve, "What's the matter? A lil' Decepticon too tough for ya?"

"Why, you pit-spawned glitch," the Autobot growled and pushed Rumble into the wall by his neck, "if you want me to break you apart, just say it. The chief won't bat an optic whatever happens to you."

Everything hurt. The pain was jolting inside him with each thrust, energon was staining his thighs again and he was disgusted with himself. He was a tool, a toy, a fool; but he needed to keep up the parade. If he had to keep ruining his luck, then he wouldn't shut his mouth. The Autobots didn't succeed to hurt him that much _yet_ and he wanted to make sure they had a hard time breaking him. Even if his whole body trembled with the force _not_ to break.

He really, really didn't want Soundwave or Frenzy or any of the others where he was, used like he was. Though, who knows, maybe they wouldn't have done all these things to Soundwave. He would never know now and if it wasn't for the sparkling, he wouldn't have to know, wouldn't have to be there and let them stretch and kick and beat him...

_No! No! Soundwave couldn't help it! You don't want him here!_

Rumble gave a short cry when the Autobot overloaded and pulled free, the mixture of transmetal fluid and energon flowed freely down his legs. He shut his optics before any drops of washer fluid could have escaped and vented deeply, willing his racing spark to calm. It was nothing, he told himself. Keep up the parade - keep their attention away from the others.

The Decepticon mini-mech put on a smirk, "This is all ya can do, huh? Don't dare... challenge mechs your own size?"

The Autobot went to pick up the cleaning cloth, but now turned back with a frown, "What?!"

Rumble's whole body was shaking, but the size of his smirk grew, "Ya surely never fought in your life, or you would'na chain me up. Or you slaggers are too afraid of us?"

"I'm not afraid of you, you little—"

"Oh, yeah?! Mouth bigger than your spike, you piece of slag-eating—"

All he could process in the next moment was the guard grabbing the sides of his head and smashing the back of his cranium into the wall with full force. Rumble heard a crack before the pain flooded him - his optics widened and mouth opened, but no sounds came forth; the blow to his head made the world whirl around him in a dazed fog, he faintly felt the warm energon trickling slowly down his head.

"That will keep you quiet, you fragging moron. This is all you deserve for destroying our home. You will rot here."

Rumble gasped and laid his head back as the dizziness overtook him. Sometimes he did wish he could shut his mouth in time. In time to save himself the pain of sacrifices. And if he did - what would happen then? What if...

_No! No! No! Don't..._

"S-Soundwave..."

His whole world plunged into an upside down despair, an endless, fragged-up rant that was numbing and was punching him from all sides.

His optics went dark.

 

* * *

 

Ratchet adjusted the mirror for the umpteenth time and checked the neuro-suppressant chip that he just applied in the medical port in the back of his neck. He steadied his hand and reached behind, the delicate laser scalpel activated soundlessly.

For several solar cycles he tried to convince himself that there was nothing extraordinary in the way that spot kept itching and although it was turning painful, he didn't want to face it. The veteran stubbornly refused, perhaps for too long, all the things that pointed in that direction he didn't want to go. In the direction that would have shown all the things that were going wrong with the events following the defeat of Megatron and their coming back to Cybertron, and he turned away when he was confronted with the growing number of evidence.

He remembered shutting off the line to Blaster. Switching off the media broadcast, refusing to read The Voice's latest updates, uttering soothing nonsense to Wheeljack when he trusted no one else to confess his worries. He desperately tried to shield himself from anything that demanded he step out of his civilian life, _again_ , when he just got it back, but the itching never ceased.

And now he finally had enough.

He could feel that there was something in his neck and he needed to find out what. Diagnostics after diagnostics came up clear, but he could still feel the bump above his port. Now, he positioned the scalpel just below the bump and cut. Although the suppressor chip helped a great deal, Ratchet felt a sharp sting when he started cutting.

He did find something. It was small and fine wires attached it to the outermost cables and circuits in his neck, just touching the medical port. It wasn't easy operating on his backside, but he had to perform riskier procedures during the war - and whatever the object turned out to be, he wanted to examine it first.

And when he finished and held the tiny, black rectangular object in his palm, he knew he needed to call Jazz.

"Yeah, Ratchet, that's right. It's a tracker." the Elite Guard officer looked up with a troubled frown, "So it was inside your neck?"

The old medic nodded and sighed, "Do you feel... a strange itching? Or something painful near your medical port?"

"Well..." Jazz rubbed the back of his neck, "I did feel a little itchy right after the registration, but not that much. You think...?"

Ratchet was already next to him, to digits behind his neck, on the spot where he himself found the tracking object among his own cables. And there it was, the same bump under Jazz's plating and probably with the same function as the one he had just taken out.

"Yes, you have one, too." Ratchet announced, "Diagnostics and the scanners won't pick them up. Jazz, be honest with me - does the Elite Guard know anything about this?"

"Believe me, Ratch, I'm just as baffled as you." Jazz sighed and subspaced the tracker, "They must've inserted it at the registrations."

"Do you think there's a connection between this and... the disappearances?"

"That's still being handled by the guys at the Police. What I know is..." Jazz stopped for a moment, regarding the old medic before him. Ratchet had been through way more than he could have imagined and the cyber-ninja knew he was a friend, he could be trusted, "The Council's main order towards us was to call in service all past and present officers and select war-time frames and those of fight-capable alt-modes. Everyone has to report planet-wide to their bases. We have to wait for further orders until the registrations are over."

"I also know that they hired Perceptor to create a Cybertronian Grand Taxonomy... that's what it's called... based on our alt-modes. What'll they do with that, I don't know. But I talked to Sentinel and he dropped some tidbit of information. It all has something to do with the recent Decepticon uprisings. Not many Decepticons chose to stay on Cybertron after they were granted amnesty on Pyrovar... or New Kaon... and those who stayed either became Autobots or neutrals. Now, the number of disappearances grew to seven and I know that five of these include former Decepticon-turned-neutrals. I have names, too; Cindersaur, Octane, Shadow Striker, Beta and Astrotrain. Knew any of them?"

"No." Ratchet shook his head slowly, optics unfocused, "Not personally, anyway. And... what about the other two?"

"That's even more freaky. The other two are Autobots, always been Autobots. One is Mirage, you know, the civil right activist who can turn invisible. The other is a psychiatrist... one called..."

"Rung?" Ratchet whispered, "Blaster told me about him earlier, but it wasn't on the news yet."

"No, not yet. I guess the Police folks have to withold info, but Blaster's pestering me, too. I might just... Well, what I know is that no one knows what the unfortunate 'bot transforms into. Though his disappearance was reported a little before the registrations started, so..."

"You think Sentinel's in it, too?"

Jazz frowned, "Nah, I don't think so. Those Functionist 'bots're really secretive. Sentinel just... goes with the flow. He doesn't wanna give up being Magnus just yet."

"Jazz... should I be worried about Wheeljack?"

"Look, we just... Ratchet, I think the best would be if you stayed low for a while. If it's really a tracker, and if that's how they found all these 'bots, then someone will soon notice something happened to yours. Contact Optimus and the others if you must, but go about your normal life. I'll figure something out."

Ratchet rubbed the bridge of his nasal plates, "I will. It's still a bit overwhelming. I can't believe it."

"Yeah. I'll contact you when I know something more."

"Thank you, Jazz. I'll... I think I owe Blaster an apology, too."

The monitor on the table chose that moment to activate and Ratchet's spark flared up. The call was coming from Earth - the medic hadn't talked to the girl in mega-cycles. Honestly, he didn't miss the place, he was perhaps the happiest of their small crew upon returning home - and there were few things he would give it up for.

Sari Sumdac's face was slightly blurry, but the light blue of her optics - the optics that used to be eyes - shone brightly. For the short time that Ratchet knew the young girl she never failed to greet them with a cheerful smile, now however, she wasn't smiling which in itself didn't mean good news.

"Hello, Ratchet." her gaze shifted to the white and blue mech standing behind, "Jazz! It's great you're there, too. The Elite Guard may know something about this."

"What is it, kid?" Ratchet asked, his chest tightening. He had a feeling he wasn't looking forward to what the technorganic girl was going to say.

"Uh... I don't know if you knew this... Starscream's body is missing."

"What?!" Ratchet exclaimed, the dreadful shock washed through him like ice-cold water, but Jazz didn't look surprised - his expression rather betrayed anxious exhaustion that Sari picked up on immediately.

"Jazz? Do you know something?"

"That's all we know, too, lil' human. But it must not go public. Orders."

"Okay, just... just so you know that our systems detected the signal of a small Decepticon ship with only one life-signal aboard. It wasn't even a real life-signal, it seemed more like what we saw around the AllSpark. Tell me, guys... is Slipstream still wanted on Cybertron?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it for now. Next chapter I'll return to Starscream and the other Decepticons.
> 
> Feedback is appreciated. :)


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I know, late update once again. I am sorry, but as I said at the beginning, I can't promise fast updates. My graduation is coming up and it is taking almost all my time right now. However, as something of a compensation, you get a nice long chapter, the longest in the story so far :)
> 
> I hope you enjoy it!

 

Starscream stumbled, yet again, and felt like he was holding on for dear life - well, maybe he _was_ \- despite the fact that Slipstream's smaller, thinner hands held him firmly. The femme Seeker rolled her optics, her expression bored beyond mention.

"Let me guess; you're already tired."

Starscream growled, claws digging slightly into the other's arms, "You think I'm doing this on purpose?!"

"No, no, no, you can't help it. No one knows that better than me."

Even though it was annoying her to no end, Starscream still being this dependent on her, it occured to Slipstream that she perhaps wasn't entirely fair with him. After all, Starscream's legs were really trembling - slag, his whole body was shaking against hers - and he was overheating even from this small exertion. She couldn't say Starscream wasn't trying and he _was_ getting better, step by step...

But it was still so slagging slow! It had been two deca-cycles by now and Slipstream had absolutely enough of his helplessness... that he was _still_ not the Starscream she was cloned from.

Not that being dead for a year had changed his attitude much. She could see - and hear - how frustrated he was with his own weakness, and that in turn stirred arguments between them. The two of them, equally stubborn and impatient clashing was inevitable, it was clear right from the beginning, though it gave an opportunity for Slipstream to learn some things about him - and herself.

Starscream took his first step four solar cycles before, and although he still couldn't walk without support, he was able to take more steps every cycle. He got tired and overheated easily, his cooling fans would not yet activate by themselves, and as strange as it sounded to her first, Slipstream accepted that Starscream couldn't tell whether he felt hungry or not; and so she had to check his temperature, fluid levels and vitals each cycle at least three times and lubricate his joints to make his movements easier. She had no idea what she could do about his rigid and frail struts.

However, it seemed his mind was almost as sharp as before. His memories all came back and stayed and the only times when he forgot where he was was whenever he jerked awake from a nightmarish flux, usually about the moments of his death. And there was one time, only one time when he called her "sister".

She didn't mention it. He had been delirious and he spoke all kinds of nonsense at those times.

"Alright." Slipstream grumbled, "Let's get you back to the berth."

"Wait, no!" Starscream let go of her arm to point shakily towards the front of the ship, "To the control panels."

"Why do you want to go there?" the femme clone frowned, "Everything's in working order and I can handle a transwarp jump alone just fine!"

"It's not that!" Starscream was growing frustrated, his knees buckled, "Argh, just get me there already!"

Slipstream complied before Starscream could have wrecked himself out of her arms. She knew if she didn't that would just lead to another argument and she was utterly tired of them - tired of it all, really - and since she didn't know much peace during her short existence, sometimes she just found it easier not to argue with him.

Starscream hissed as he literally fell into the chair, but quickly composed himself. It was not the first time Slipstream marveled at how he insisted on hiding his weakness even when it was obvious, as if showing any ounce of vulnerability might bring upon him some unknown danger, or someone else's wrath.

"What do you want to do?" when Starscream didn't acknowledge her, Slipstream growled and whirled the chair around to face her template, "Why are you playing with me like this?! You know I could've just left you to your suffering... or left you for dead, so stop ignoring me!"

"When are we due to arrive?" was the first thing that left Starscream's mouth and Slipstream backed away, frowning.

"In five solar cycles."

"Where _exactly_ are we heading? Surely not Cybertron."

Slipstream huffed, "To Luna One, Hecate. The ship calculated the right coordinates upon arrival—"

"Hecate still stands...?" Starscream murmured.

"There's a base there." Slipstream replied quickly, "Some Decepticons managed to stay in hiding. We're going there, they have a medic who can help restore you before we go down to Cybertron."

"They were fools to stay so close to Cybertron." Starscream continued his grumbling and finally raised his pale optics up to his clone, "And you! You just flew down to Cybertron on an unidentifiable ship when you are wanted! I thought the need to survive would be stronger in all of you!"

"Well, _I_ didn't get caught like all the others. I know how to sneak around, oh, mighty commander, so you don't have to worry. I got more than your survival skills. I got a processor to use it."

"You were lucky. Extremely lucky." Starscream growled, "You're underestimating the Autobots and you have no idea what to expect. Yes, my dear, you might be the most intelligent of them, but even you lack the experience of war and without that..." he pointed to one of the screens, where a yellow line of code flashed on the side, "You won't survive for so long."

Slipstream frowned, but Starscream spoke again before she had the chance, "When did this appear?"

"I don't know, a few joors ago. I was too busy hauling up your aft from the floor at the time."

"Decepticon programmers developed this warning system and built it into all our ships." Starscream started explaining, "It's meant to detect orbital radars in advance. They used to erect them over... over all of Cybertron to monitor incoming spaceships and... whoever is on board... The Autobots could have... activated one because of..."

He broke down into a coughing fit, energon stained his palm. Starscream leant back in the chair, head spinning for a long click. He felt Slipstream wipe his hand and mouth clean, she was frowning and didn't look straight at him, it seemed she sunk deep in thoughts - seeing the way the pliable metal folded above her optics and her features hardened in concentration felt like looking in a mirror. Except Slipstream's face was softer, younger, smoother - not a crack or shadow to remind of all those millions of years spent fighting and surviving.

"And... what do we do about it?" she finally asked quietly and raised her optics to meet his, "Starscream?"

"I'm alright." he waved her worried question away and fought off the incoming dizziness, "Listen. Next cycle we have to come out of bent space, jump to an alternative coordinate set, one closer to Cybertron, then to another—"

"Starscream, so many jumps will take too much energy and it will delay us! Our energon reserves aren't nearly enough to just jump all over empty space-"

"You're not listening to me! We worked out this method way back during the war and it works. You never actually fought in a war, and let me tell you, it is more than just shooting at each other! We _will_ make at least four jumps before we reach Luna One to confuse the radar system. The warp jumps cause shadows to appear on the radar and make the pinpointing of the exact location of the ship harder. Let them chase phantom signals while we land and hide. Do you get it now?"

"Don't talk to me like I'm a newly sparked protoform—"

"You _are_ a newly sparked protoform! Having a loud mouth doesn't make you smarter than others."

"Oh," Slipstream put her hands on her hips, EM field brightening angrily, "funny to hear it from the very person I was cloned from. I'm supposed to be a perfect representation of you, so if I'm loud-mouthed, than guess where it is coming from!"

"Yes, making an absolutely _not_ personal matter personal is something I would do." Starscream smirked, "But you're not the smart one here now. And by the way haven't you noticed your personality is different from mine now? Could be because all of you are just one aspect... and had to develop further from there..."

Slipstream didn't think it useful to interrupt his musings. Let him talk to himself and let's pretend it wasn't affecting her. It wasn't - was it?

"It _has_ been a stellar cycle, after all... I wonder how much you would take after..."

"If you mean I am my own person now, yeah, you're damn right. I'm not depending on you anymore."

Starscream leant his head back, his optics paled just a little, "Then who are you depending on? After you betrayed me, you must have betrayed Megatron, too... you were a fugitive on that mudball they oh so appropriately call Earth, and now you're here, on Megatron's side, following Megatron's orders. You all inherited my treachery and yet - you all found your way back to the Decepticons."

"Just like you. You had plenty of chances to leave and you always ended up by Megatron's side."

"And what do you think, why?"

"That's what I'm asking you!" Slipstream crossed her arms, she started to lose her patience with this whole conversation and Starscream just smirked, right into her face, that ungrateful wretch of a—

"So, it means you don't know why you're here either. Don't worry about it, sister, it took me millions of years to work out."

_Calling me sister again..._

"So," Starscream continued, his frame slumping in exhaustion, "we will jump back to real-time the next cycle, as I said, and plan our next move. They won't catch us. Now, if you would please..."

Slipstream was tempted to leave Starscream there and let him try to drag himself back to the berth on his own. She was tempted to leave him, leave everything like when she was back on Earth as a newborn, when nothing mattered, when she didn't have to play loyal to anyone. It was at these time she wanted to forget the reason she eventually came back. That perhaps it wasn't all that perfect to be alone.

So she grabbed his arm and hoped to hear Starscream's answer to that question. That was the least she deserved.

 

* * *

 

The fire tore into him like a screaming harpy and Megatron howled in agony.

It had been more than a joor since he was dragged to the room and strapped to the table where they first tortured him - the cylinders first were fastened to his lower legs to melt them further and when they deemed the results satisfactory, they moved it up to his knees. After his lower legs were nothing but smoking chunks, he thought that was the maximum pain he would have to put up with - but when the cylinders heated up around the knee joints, it struck with a new kind of suffering.

The Autobot scientist, Flame stood at a safe distance and only when Megatron's cries gave way to static did he gesture to the guard to switch off the cylinders. Megatron's fans bellowed in the room's silence and his whole body heaved with the struggle to cool down his severely overheating frame. Smoke spiralled up from his vents and spread like mist around the standing figures.

Flame waited a few klicks and when it seemed the warlord's body was going limp and his optics offlined, he gave a command again and Megatron jerked awake with a loud groan.

"Your endurance is still impressive." Flame scrolled down on the datapad he was holding, "My bosses will be pleased with these results... however, they are expecting other results, too, so I'm going to ask one more time: were you or your soldiers in possession of an AllSpark fragment when you were caught?"

He wasn't surprised that silence was the only reply he got. He made a gesture to another guard and with a push of a button, the cuffs around Megatron's wrists and neck sent a strong shock through the warlord's every circuit - his whole body arched and his optics fritzed and red fluid started leaking from them from the overheating.

"The AllSpark is still missing some pieces, more than those we counted to be the shards of the Starscream clones. We also know we didn't manage to capture _all_ of them, the one named Slipstream is still out there somewhere. The further four AllSpark-powered mechs had been retrieved from the planet Earth, however... the number of pieces missing is more than what we can account for."

"If I... or any of my soldiers... had AllSpark fragments..." Megatron rasped, his voice barely heard over the wheezing of his vents, "your sensors would have... picked up the... excess energy... Or are you... doubting your own... your own technology?"

"We have no doubt about the extent of your _deception_."

Flame frowned as the expression of dazed pain gave way to a tired, but just as defiant smirk on the Decepticon leader's face, "I'm... _honored_."

The scientist fought not to let his frustration show. They were getting nowhere with their methods so far, the rumors seemed to be true - the Decepticons, though older than at least half of Cybertron's current population, were still the battle-hardened individuals they were during the war, never having ditched their durable armory, weaponry and militaristic ways.

Even deprived of their weapons, sensor-enhancing and defensive auxiliaries, with their T-cogs disabled and some neural functions - like special abilities - shut off, it was their mindset that was hardest to break. After all, they were still the same species and they reacted to torture just like everybody else and got weak after cycles of pain and hunger, but still they seemed to be stronger and apart from a few they simply refused to break down. Moreover, the harder they tried the more it seemed to fuel their angry stubborness.

The staff of the prison thought later that maybe bribing them with a loved one - because, it turned out, they _did_ have loved ones - would do the trick, but even that failed at least half the time. That one, that Lugnut Flame saw yesterday outright stated that he would die before he would give up on anything Decepticon, no matter what they did - and Flame found that he actually believed it.

Flame couldn't decide whether ro call it an utter, sick devotion or an undying hope that made them endure the prison and kept them waiting, absolutely confident that they would be free again. Perhaps that was what helped them survive on the desolate Pyrovar - that they re-christened as New Kaon - and kept them running for two million years, just to attack with renewed force again.

They were hard to break. And it made them all the more dangerous.

A threat the Council was right to eliminate as soon as possible.

In a moment of anger, Flame stepped closer to Megatron until he could actually feel the heat rolling out of the cylinders.

"I don't know _what_ you are planning with Starscream's _corpse_ , Megatron," he growled, making sure to emphasize the Seeker's deceased status, "but no one will break you out of here. The moment Starscream or Slipstream or anyone bearing your wretched insignia sets foot on this planet, they will immediately be incarcerated, without court martial, or terminated if they attempt to fight."

And klicks later, when he thought Megatron wouldn't answer, he had to turn back at the mocking whisper, "Good. Bring them here... the more our numbers... the bigger the explosion..."

"Maximum temperature."

Megatron's screams filled the room heavily and he writhed with newfound frenzy when the cylinders started moving up his legs to the heretofore undamaged parts. By the time it finally ended, he could hardly see, energon joined the red fluid that now leaked from his optics and his spark was going crazy from the heat.

At first, it didn't even register that the Autobot scientist was talking, his voice came to him through a fog of pain, "...and just as we speak, a Grand Taxonomy is being completed. Soon a new order will come to the prison and your outliers will be separated. Your numbers _will_ be growing... here, in the torture chambers. End of session."

He was in a daze when the Autobot guards placed him back in his cell and Megatron had to fight static pestering his optical and audio feed. He couldn't move his legs at all and he didn't want to see what was left of them just yet - the foul-smelling smoke coming from them was telling enough.

When the bars of energy were erected over the door of his cell and the guards went away, he looked instead straight ahead to Rumble's cell. The mini-mech wasn't chained to the wall for once, he was curled up on the floor and glaring with all his hate at the departing guards, he was shaking and... was that washer fluid glistening on his cheeks?

"Rumble..." he startled the smaller mech who wiped his face quickly and moved to stand up. Megatron tried his best to focus on him, at least to distract himself from his own agony; he watched as Rumble struggled to his feet, all the while doubled over and holding his lower abdomen, a fresh glob of transmetal fluid and energon crawled down his thighs now that he stood. There were dents and scratches all over his protoform - how much thinner and fragile he looked without his armor - and Megatron guessed some other guards must have had another round with him while he was tortured.

"Y-yes, Megatron?" Rumble knelt down at the bars slowly and tried his best not to look at the smoking chunks that used to be his leader's legs. He felt sick enough already.

Megatron took a series of deep vents, one hand pressed to his chest and when he was sure he wouldn't scream again, he asked, "Frenzy... had he... his sonic attack... how long has he possessed the ability...?"

Rumble frowned in confusion. He didn't expect that question and he had no idea why it would suddenly become so important to Megatron, but nevertheless, he, too, welcomed the distraction and let himself sink into the memories of himself and his siblings when they were young.

"He had it since we were really young." he shrugged, "Soundwave taught him how t' control it. He almost crashed a few times back then when he couldn'... why? What about it?"

Megatron remembered when Rumble and Frenzy were sparked; they were born during the war and Soundwave raised them to be true Decepticons. Thin little bots with the energy of a supernova, their creator always had his hands full with them. Megatron did remember one occasion when Soundwave rushed to the med-bay with the small, twitching Frenzy in his arms after he almost overloaded his own systems with his sonic waves. However, over the ages, he and Soundwave turned it into a deadly weapon that more than once brought them victory over the battlefield along with his brother's piledrivers.

"So... he was sparked like this..."

"Yeah. But why? Is he..."

Megatron shook his head. He didn't know what to think, but the only thing that was worth thinking about from this latest session was when the scientist mentioned the Taxonomy and... _outliers_ , and how they would be separated. Megatron knew Soundwave was one, though they wouldn't do anything to him until his sparkling emerged. However, the others...

"I don't know... I don't know what they're planning yet."

A frightened look crossed the mini-mech's features and he hissed, fist still pressing into his mid-section as if he could beat the pain out of his body. Megatron let his hand fall in his lap and leant his head back to the wall.

"Talk to them, Rumble." he murmured, "Open your spark bond. You have to stay stronger... and you need them. That's an order."

Rumble grimaced and lowered his head. He thought for a moment whether he would finally break down if he felt his creator and siblings again when he managed to stay detached and contain his pain and boiling emotions in himself - but then again, it was an order. So he leant fully to the wall and offlined his optics, preparing himself before finally, after two deca-cycles, he opened the bond, just one part of it, slowly, almost anxiously...

_"Hey, Frenzy..."_

 

* * *

 

The Metroplex hadn't changed one bit since the last time he had been there a stellar cycle ago, but this was the first time Ratchet was actually _invited_ to the headquarters of the Autobot High Council. And he wasn't alone - it had been mega-cycles ago when each member of his former team gathered together.

Of course, both Bumblebee and Bulkhead were overjoyed to finally meet again, and though Optimus was more reserved, he did give the old medic a hug. Since all of them got civilian jobs - or, in Optimus' case, a place in the Elite Guard - they were busy re-building their lives in their home and although they each stayed in Iacon they hardly had the time to come together all at once.

It had been a deca-cycle since Ratchet discovered and removed the tracker from his circuitry and a few solar cycles later an invitation came from the Council - from One-of-Twelve, that Functionist who, by Sentinel Magnus' growing influence - or growing insanity, Ratchet couldn't decide -, along with the other eleven of their own party, took over from the High Council more and more these cycles. When the invitation came, the medic at first truly panicked; he had no idea whether to deny it altogether and draw even more suspicion upon himself, or accept and walk right into their hands.

He only calmed down somewhat when he got to know that all his former team got invited as well and that was when he felt safe enough, with Optimus by his side, to walk into the Metroplex where the Council members were waiting. The two younger bots went ahead, both excited, while Ratchet and Optimus walked behind them and it finally gave Ratchet a chance to talk to his old friend.

"I didn't think you would accept an invitation from _them_ , Prime." he murmured, though his voice remained soft. Optimus chuckled lightly at his statement.

"Funny. I thought the same about you. Although I am curious what they want from us this time and I wonder if Sentinel will be there." after a moment of pause, he looked at Ratchet, "Jazz told me he visited you."

Ratchet tensed somewhat, but managed to hide it when he looked back at Optimus. His optics wandered to the Elite Guard insignia gleaming proudly on his chest.

"And?"

"He told me you talked to Sari... about Slipstream and Starscream's body."

Optimus lowered his volume and Ratchet sighed, "Yes, we did. The kid's doing great, by the way. And I guess that's all we know so far. Do you think they want to talk about _that_ with us?"

"I don't know, Ratchet. I'm still getting familiar with the Elite Guard's ways. Jazz would probably know better than me."

"Did he... tell you anything else?"

Optimus frowned slightly, "No. What else would he need to tell me?"

Ratchet pressed his lips together. So Jazz kept the tracker a secret even from Optimus - and the old medic guessed, in that case, he needed to trust Jazz's judgement. If he wanted to keep quiet about it until they figured everything out, there was probably no need to involve anyone else in this mess. So Ratchet decided to change the topic.

"Just that Blaster's pestering him about the disappea—"

"Welcome, all of you!"

It was One-of-Twelve who stood at the entrance and greeted them loud and clear, his single optic as unreadable as ever, "Please, follow me. We have been waiting for you."

Ratchet tensed up even more as they were led into the complex. Once they arrived at a smaller chamber, they were greeted by a somber-looking Alpha Trion, Perceptor and two other Functionists, Ten-of-Twelve and Six-of-Twelve. It was the latter who stepped forward to address the four bots.

"Heroes of Cybertron," the tall mech made a curt bow towards them, "we thank you for accepting our invitation. Without further hesitation, I would like to tell you the reason for your summon. You may be the first to receive the news that our Minister of Science" Six-of-Twelve turned and gestured to Perceptor, who looked back at them as blank as ever, "finished the new census of Cybertron's population now that we have eliminated some... undesirable elements. The Grand Cybertronian Taxonomy, based upon our alt-modes is, from tomorrow, the new official standard."

Ratchet, without even looking at his former teammates, could tell all of them were just as surprised as him. Ratchet, of course, knew the registrations' purpose was to create the Grand Taxonomy, but he didn't think it would be finished so soon - and why did they feel the need to tell them about it before announcing it to the people? Out of the corner of his optics, he saw Alpha Trion fold his arms over his chest and did Perceptor just lower his head a little—

"A unity of forms and thus a unity of purpose is needed" Six-of-Twelve went on, "in light of the newest Decepticon uprisings and attempted prison outbreaks, and by exposing one of our high-ranking, trusted commrades as a Decepticon spy, we know that this matter is more complex than we originally thought."

"Sir, with respect," it was Optimus who spoke up for the first time since they arrived, "during this past stellar cycle, since the capture of Megatron and other high-ranking and wanted Decepticons, it seems the uprisings have quieted down."

"On the contrary, Optimus Prime." the Functionist retorted, "We have detected our enemies' activities even in close proximity to Cybertron. I am sure the Elite Guard will inform you about the matter. However, this is not the reason you are here now."

Six-of-Twelve turned towards Ratchet before he spoke again. The medic stood his gaze, but he could swear, from the intense glow of the golden optics, that the mech _knew_...

"With Megatron's capture, you not only saved and delivered the AllSpark back home, you also brought us newfound peace. Now we can be sure that Cybertron's biggest enemy will never roam free again, and it is thanks to you. Thus, the whole Council decided that you shall all be declared alt-mode exempts and treated accordingly."

"Um... what does that mean... sir?" Bumblebee asked, innocent confusion radiating from his question.

"As exempts, you can choose any occupation you wish to pursue, regardless of your alternate modes for your whole lives. This is our gift to you for your heroic deeds..."

Ratchet tuned out the rest of Six-of-Twelve's speech, especially when he noticed the other two, One-of-Twelve and Ten-of-Twelve were both staring right at him even though he refused to meet their optics. The dreadful feeling in his spark seemed to grow as Six-of-Twelve was finishing his monologue. All the while, Alpha Trion and Perceptor never said a word - nor did anyone else, for that matter.

In the end, the Council members invited them for a cube and Ratchet had to fight the urge to curl his digits into fists when Ten-of-Twelve stepped up next to him and decided walk side by side to their destination.

"We have heard about your outstanding performance following the air ship collision over Protihex." the Functionist said, but Ratchet didn't reply - he wanted the other bot to say whatever he wanted out loud, "We know it had been centuries since you were assigned back to the then-offline Omega Supreme after the war ended, but we trust you have comfortably settled in to life at the Central Clinics—"

"It wasn't centuries. It was thousands of years. Forgotten along with the one who brought us our victory."

"Ah, yes. Forgive me. However, you have all proven yourselves and we always need experienced and _devoted_ medical experts like you." the golden optics turned to him and when the bot stopped Ratchet had to stop with him, "Are you satisfied with your position now, my friend? Are you... feeling well?"

Millions of years of practice helped Ratchet keep a straight face, "I am _functional_. Thank you."

"Please know that if you encounter problems, of any kind, you can turn to us." a forward tilt of his head, a flash of his optic, "You can _trust_ us. We will not let _anything_ happen to you."

Ratchet didn't say anything and for the rest of the joor they spent in the Metroplex he remained silent. He wanted to get away from that place as fast as possible, but he didn't feel safe leaving alone either, so he waited until he and the others were collectively dismissed. He kept close to Optimus and fought against succumbing to the desire to ask him to drive home with him and in the end he drove alone to his apartment.

It was sunset by the time he finally got home. He wanted to contact Jazz immediately, but needed to take a few deep vents before he activated his comm. link.

"Jazz—"

"Ratchet! Finally!" Jazz's voice sounded greatly relieved, "Are you home?"

"Y-yes... Jazz, they _know_..."

"I know. Listen, Ratchet," Jazz's volume dropped to almost a whisper, "I can't tell you much, but I have... friends who may be able to help you, I've already sent them over. But it won't be easy. You may... have to leave your job and home for a while. 'm sorry."

The veteran medic sighed, "Wouldn't be the first time. And what do I need to do?"

"Nothing. You just stay at home... before morning, two bots will—"

Ratchet's spark was pusling furiously when his comm. link suddenly went mute and he failed to re-activate it. The white noise and a high-pitched whine he was met with deeply scared him and his terror grew profoundly when he heard a thud from the other room.

"Who are you?!"

He brought out his electromagnets and whirled around when he felt another's EM field, but the blow to his chest still came unexpected and left him rolling to the ground. His spark raced when he opened his optics and saw two tall, masked and visored bots standing above him - he attempted to stand, but one of them quickly beat him back to the ground and a hard blow to his head rendered him too dazed to stay upright.

The next moment was a blur. His attackers only had time to turn when a white and blue figure collided with them out of nowhere, sending one crashing into the wall while the other tried to hold him back. Another figure appeared alongside him, this one came and crouched beside his head, a smaller one, green and white and sporting a mustache...

"Do not worry, my friend." the figure spoke to him, but Ratchet's senses were fading fast as the fight continued next to them, "You are coming with us..."

Ratchet's optics offlined with that last bit of reassurance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> Feedback is appreciated! ^^


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